


Lifetime Piling Up

by MittenWraith



Series: Wild Wild Life [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2019, Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), F/F, F/M, Law Student Sam Winchester, M/M, Magical Realism, Psychic Abilities, Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester, but no angst between dean and cas, that could be construed as a few uncanny coincidences and an epic level of competence, things happen faster in a hospital than they do in any known reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-11-25 18:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20916791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: Cas is having a bad day. He burned his bagel, missed his ride to work and had to run to the hospital in the pouring rain, and then witnessed his attending accidentally kill a patient during a routine surgery. Now he might be on the hook for his boss’s mistake, but was it really a mistake, or is he the next target of Dr. Nick Morningstar’s sick mind games?Dean is also having a bad day. His brother nearly set his kitchen on fire, he’s training a new apprentice in his tattoo shop, and then he gets a mysterious call that Sam needs a ride to the hospital after a freak accident in the pouring rain left him with an injured shoulder. A chance encounter at the hospital leads Dean and Cas to each other after a decade of coincidences and premonitions, and suddenly their worst day might become the foundation for all of their best. A story of choice and destiny, and the power of found family, foretold through uncanny tattoos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can hardly believe we are here, at the 10th Annual Dean/Cas Big Bang, aka Destiel Christmas! Thank you so much to the mods who have made all of this possible, muse, diamond, jojo, y'all are the best! And through the dcbb I got to work with the wonderfully talented [weldersmightyb](https://weldersmightyb.tumblr.com), who drew the gorgeous artwork on display in the banner, Chapter 1, and Chapter 10. I screamed when I saw the sketches, but the final pieces have blown me away. :') The art masterpost can be found right [here](https://weldersmightyb.tumblr.com/post/188507151573/art-masterpost-for-lifetime-piling-up), and all due praise can be expressed through comments of adoration there. :D 
> 
> I also need to thank [Lizbob](https://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com) for talking me through the beginning of this fic, [ceeceekayblog](https://ceeceekayblog.tumblr.com) for general support and reactions, and [malmuses](https://malmuses.tumblr.com) for allowing all my weird hyphens to stand without commentary :'D
> 
> Finally, thank you to all of you for reading! I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it. Now I'll shut up and let you get to the good stuff. <3

Castiel knew he should’ve stayed in bed this morning. Something in the back of his mind had tried to tell him he was scheduled for a rapid descent into one of the lower circles of Hell, and six hours into his shift that something has now moved to the front of his mind in the form of a pounding headache. He can’t get to the break room fast enough. Aside from his growing headache, the only thing going through his mind is the need for about half a pot of coffee and some aspirin before he can even begin to process the major fuckup he’s just witnessed.

“Major fuckup,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head as he ignores one of the nurses he blows past in the hallway when she asks if he’s okay. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and can’t suppress the sarcastic laugh that bubbles out of his throat as he pushes through the break room door. “Someone _ died_. That’s about as major as our fuckups can get.”

He eyeballs the coffee pot, which is blessedly full, and heads to his locker to dig out his emergency bottle of aspirin. Nothing has gone right today, from his toaster burning his morning bagel and nearly catching fire before he’d unplugged it and tossed it into the sink, to missing his ride and having to run half a mile through the pouring rain to work. He should’ve just stayed in bed. If he had, he never would’ve had to witness his boss, the infallible head of the emergency department, Dr. Nick Morningstar, contribute to the death of a patient who by all rights should’ve survived to make a full recovery. Yeah, this day can’t possibly get any worse, and he still has four hours left in his shift.

Cas shakes a few tablets into his hand and returns the bottle to his locker. The coffee’s always hit or miss, but at least that one thing goes right for him. The pot’s fresh, and he swallows his aspirin with a gulp of slightly too hot coffee and leans back against the counter to start mentally piecing together exactly what went wrong.

The man on his table had been one of several people brought in after a local office building had caught fire. He’d been trapped on the second floor, and had decided to take his chances jumping out the window when the flames closed in on him. One shattered femur and crushed ankle later, with a side order of smoke inhalation, he’d been delivered into the competent hands of Dr. Gabriel Milton, assisted by chief resident Castiel Novak. The man had been on the way to recovery until Lucifer himself swept into the room and decided to take over the case.

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he rubs his temple. He tops off his coffee and then trudges back out to the ER to see his next patient. Whoever it is, he only hopes Dr. Morningstar doesn’t decide to come to their rescue again. At least he’s guaranteed to see one smiling face at the nurse’s station, and as usual, Mildred doesn’t disappoint.

“You look like you need a few minutes of quiet, Dr. Novak,” she says as he looks over the patient roster on the computer screen behind her. “We can manage long enough for you to finish that coffee in peace, if you need a break.”

He spots an easy case-- a six year old with a shard of broken glass embedded in her foot-- and quickly types his initials by her name and picks up her chart. “I think I can handle a bit of first aid and a couple of stitches,” he tells her, managing enough of a smile to satisfy Mildred that he isn’t pushing himself too hard.

They both know it’s not entirely the truth, but they also both know it’s the nature of the job. Emergencies don’t stop just because the doctors are having a terrible day. Cas is also pretty sure that even if Dr. Morningstar did deign to insert himself into such a simple case, the likelihood he’d fuck up badly enough to kill this patient was slim to none. But then again, that’s what he’d thought about his last patient, as well.

Little Emma with the glass in her foot diligently recounts every detail of how her imaginary friend knocked over the vase of flowers her dad had sent her mom for her birthday, while Cas listens raptly as he extracts the glass and cleans her wound. Emma doesn’t even freak out when he loads a syringe up with anesthetic to numb her skin before putting half a dozen stitches in. His dramatic reactions to Emma’s fantastical storytelling while the little girl’s mother rolls her eyes and sighs at the mess their day’s become prove the perfect distraction from the abject disaster his day had been to that point.

He delivers instructions to Emma as he wraps her foot in a lime green bandage. “Now you’ll have to be very careful for a couple weeks. No climbing on the dining room table, for starters.”

“That wasn’t me, that was Quentin! I _ told _ him to leave the flowers alone, that they were mommy’s and not for him to play with, but he never listens.”

“Well,” Cas says as he stands up and stretches his back, “if Quentin cares about you, he’ll listen for the next few weeks, at least. If he wants your foot to get better enough to play with him again, he’ll take your recovery seriously and stay out of trouble for a while.”

Emma’s eyes go wide and she turns to her mother. “Quentin swears he’ll be good. He says he doesn’t want my foot to fall off.”

Cas snorts out a laugh as Emma’s mother looks helplessly at him. He gives her a sheet with instructions on how to care for the wound, and when to come back to have the stitches removed. They say their goodbyes, and Cas moves on to the next patient, his mood substantially better than before. The day’s not any less ruined overall, but at least one thing has finally gone right.

The next three hours bring him more of the same. A case of the sniffles, a fractured wrist, a few odd wounds to suture, and a head injury he can pass off to the neurologist on call. Through it all, his headache simmers right alongside the continuous replay of the morning’s disastrous surgery.

With less than half an hour left until the end of his shift, there finally looks to be a break in the rain. He’s standing by the door watching the drops slow to a drizzle when a big black car screeches to a stop outside and a very tall man struggles to open the passenger door while the driver runs around to help, yelling instructions and curses at his passenger in equal measure. So much for the rest of his shift passing without another incident. Cas takes a deep breath and heads through the big glass doors to offer his assistance, and sets his sense of foreboding aside as much as he can for now. He’s got one last patient to deal with, and then he can return to privately mulling over his personal dread.

***

Dean’s day starts off with a bang. Or rather, with a screech, when Sam somehow manages to set off the smoke detector while toasting up some of his weird healthy birdseed bread. Dean bolts out of bed and out into the kitchen to find Sam trying to smother the toaster with an oven mitt while fanning a cloud of acrid smoke out the window. He skids to a halt in the doorway, his robe hanging open because his hands are too occupied trying to keep the piercing scream of the smoke detector above his head from blowing out his eardrums. He risks his hearing to reach up and push the reset button to silence the alarm. That, at least, finally gets Sam’s attention in the form of a disgruntled but relieved sigh.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, returning his attention to the toaster. “And sorry about that.”

“I told you not to put that funky-ass bread in the toaster.”

Sam makes a grumbling noise, but he can’t disagree. He gives up trying to fish out the charred, crumbled bread bits with a fork and ends up shaking the toaster upside down over the sink until the last smoldering chunk hits the metal basin with a dull thunk.

“I think the toaster survived, anyway,” Sam says, plugging it back in and pushing the button down to test it. The coils inside heat up and nothing catches fire, so he pops it back up and turns to face Dean with a sigh. “I know you don’t have to be up for another hour. You might as well go back to sleep.”

Dean snorts and finally ties his robe shut, shuffling over to the coffee pot. “Yeah, not happening. Don’t you have class this morning?”

Sam glances over at the clock, his eyes bugging out when he registers the time. “Shit, I needed to be out of here five minutes ago.” He grabs up his backpack and hurries out of the kitchen.

“Next time just have some normal breakfast,” Dean mutters, tossing Sam a pop tart.

Sam makes a face at him, but he takes the processed pastry with him anyway. Dean looks over the wreck of his kitchen counter, strewn with burnt crumbs and bits of nuts and seeds. The rain picks up outside, and Dean’s torn between worrying about Sam running all the way to class in this weather and vindictively pleased his brother’s getting soaked for nearly burning down his kitchen for a slice of freaky toast. Instant karma at its finest. The smoke’s mostly cleared out, so Dean shuts the window before the rain can do any more damage.

He fills up the coffee maker and gets to work mopping up the mess. By the time he’s restored the kitchen to its usual glory, the coffee is ready.

Sure, he’s up an hour earlier than he intended to be, and he doesn’t even need to open his shop for another hour after that, but he’s always got work he can do, so it’s not like the morning’s a total bust. He pours himself a mug of coffee and heads back to his room. His sketchbook is still open on his desk, the drawing he’d been trying to finish last night looking a hell of a lot better by the light of day. That’s what he gets for losing all track of time and nearly falling asleep at his desk yet again.

It’s easily one of Dean’s biggest problems. Once he gets started on a project, it consumes him until he’s satisfied with it. It’s been great for his career, but not so great for his sleep schedule. Not to mention his social life.

It wasn’t easy establishing himself as an up and coming tattoo artist in a town bursting at the seams with well-respected artists. When Sam had been accepted to Stanford, Dean decided there wasn’t anything really keeping him in Kansas and followed him out. He sold the family house and invested every last cent into the new shop. Some people told him he was nuts, sinking everything into his own business right out of the gate. Everyone advised him to take it slow, build up a client base, a reputation for himself before hanging out a shingle.

Dean made it work with a combination of business sense learned from his Uncle Bobby at his garage and his Aunt Ellen at her bar, on top of everything he’d learned from Mick about tattooing and running his shop, The Men of Letters, and his own natural charm. Almost seven years later, not only is Dean a well respected and well known artist, but business is booming. Which brings him back to the piece currently demanding his attention.

He stares down at his notebook for a few minutes, sipping his coffee. The owl in the drawing stares back, its eyes wide as its talons extend, its wings half folded as it descends on its unseen prey. Eventually he pulls out the chair at his desk, satisfied that the client who commissioned it will be happy with it the way it is. He’ll find out for sure in a few hours. Dean sets his mug down and flips to the next blank page in his book, and pulls up his schedule for the day on his phone. He’s booked solid from open to close, as usual. But it’s Thursday, so at least closing time is a more reasonable six in the evening instead of nine or ten that he sometimes pushes it to on the weekends. He checks the time again, then picks up a pencil and idly begins sketching a set of wings.

His own body is a canvas of wildly varying art, from the fires of Hell and torment licking their way up his left arm to the forest of trees growing up from his right ankle. He’s been selective with the ink he’s added to his own skin, knowing that there’s only so much space he has to work with. Dean has always wanted to make every drop of ink count. Which is how his obsession with drawing birds and wings has evolved.

When he was younger, first learning how to tattoo, he’d practiced flames and shading, light and dark, on his own arm. It had been a terrible time in his life, and in a strange way, that hellfire had helped him get through it. But that was the past, and now he’s finally able to look to the future. His right arm is still in need of some ink, a bit of heaven to balance out all the hell.

Dean knows exactly how he wants his little slice of Heaven to look. Not the usual cliche of clouds and pearly gates and chubby little cupids strumming harps, but the open road illuminated by the headlights of his ‘67 Impala, a dark warrior angel silhouetted against the moon, watching over him while a thousand stars sparkle in the night sky. If only he could get the angel’s wings right. He’s been working on the design for years, but so far he hasn’t been happy enough with it to let Jody or Donna get to work on it. He’s sure neither one of them has ever seen his concept art, not even accidentally, and he’s certain he’s never even talked about the idea of it with them. Occasionally he thinks about letting one of them take a shot at the design, but it just seems too personal, too important for him not to work it out for himself.

When his alarm clock goes off across the room, Dean snaps out of his reverie and looks at what he’s drawn. Three huge sets of angel wings, and none of them really seem right. He sighs, tosses his pencil down, and gets up to shut off the alarm and get ready for the day.

After a quick shower spent visualizing the angel’s perfect form, silhouetted against a yellow moon in an inky sky filled with undiscovered constellations, he is honestly looking forward to the end of the day when he can commit the image to paper. At least he’s got the rest of the day to think over the little details. He makes a short detour to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal and the rest of the coffee, and then collects his notebook and heads downstairs to the shop. At least down there he’s less likely to get stuck on the clouds in his own imagination. From the moment he unlocks the door for Jody and Donna, he’s all business.

He’s running a little ahead of schedule, between a client that went a lot faster than expected and his last appointment of the day showing up half an hour early. By 5:15 he’s ready to call it a night and see what his coworkers want to do for dinner. Jody and Donna are in the little break room at the back of the shop, and he hears them burst out in laughter as his phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out, sees it’s Sam calling, and grins. It’s still pouring outside, but now it’s getting dark. Jackass probably wants Dean to pick him up from his last class so he doesn’t have to run back home in the rain.

“Dean’s taxi service,” he says when he answers.

He expects Sam to sigh and tell him where to pick him up, but there’s only silence on the line for a moment.

“Sam, did you butt dial me again?” he asks. “Am I talking to your ass cheek? Sam!”

A woman’s voice he doesn’t recognize finally speaks. “You’re Sam’s brother, right?”

Dean’s instantly on alert. “Yeah, I’m Dean. Where’s Sam?”

“He’s right here,” the woman says, her Scottish accent becoming more apparent as she tries to remain calm. “There’s been a wee bit of an accident and I think it would be best if Sam saw a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Dean hears Sam say in the background, and then hears him groan in pain. “Give me the phone, Rowena.” There’s a brief scrabbling noise and the woman makes a scolding noise, but Sam keeps yelling, unable to gain control of his own phone. “Dean, I just need a ride home.” Sam groans again.

Dean rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh. “Yeah, sounds like he needs a doctor. What happened anyway?”

The woman hesitates, then tells Sam to hush up before coming back on the line. “We’re at the coffee shop near the law library that Sam favors. He says you'll know which one he means. You should come collect him.”

“Collect him?” Dean says, checking his pockets for his wallet and keys and heading back toward the break room to fill in Jody and Donna. “You’re making it sound like he’s in pieces.”

“It’s not as bad as all that. He’s just taken a wee tumble,” the woman says. “I’ll stay with him until you get here. Or I can call an ambulance if you’d prefer.”

“No, no, I’m on my way,” Dean says, as Sam yells out his ongoing objection to emergency medical care. “Just keep him there. Sit on him if you gotta. I’ll be there in like two minutes.”

He hangs up and suffers through ten seconds of sheer panic. He can’t just run out of the shop without explanation. The part of his brain that’s screaming _ But Sam Is Hurt!!! _ with even more exclamation points and capital letters than that finally loses out to the sort of calm rationality he’ll need to drive the car in rush hour traffic anyway, and he takes a deep breath and jogs the rest of the way back to the break room.

Jody and Donna are still giggling to themselves when Dean slides into the room. Jody looks up as if she’s eager to let him in on the joke, but as soon as she sees the look on his face the smile melts off hers. Donna has her back to him, but the change that comes over Jody has her whipping around in her chair, instantly going from bubbly and cheerful into protective mama bear mode.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Donna asks, standing up from the little table. Jody’s by her side in an instant.

“Sam’s hurt,” he starts, and then holds up a hand to stop the inevitable rush of concerned questions he can see welling up behind their widening eyes. “I don’t think it’s too serious, but he needs a ride.”

“Do you need us to stay here? Lock up? Man the phones?” Jody asks.

“You just get to your brother, and give us a call as soon as you know what’s what,” Donna says, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm that doubles as a nudge toward the door. “We’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“Get outta here, already,” Jody says, in her best mom voice. “And call the second you’re both safe, okay?”

Dean could hug both of them, but if he stops long enough for that he might just break down and cry, so instead he just squeezes his eyes shut and huffs out a relieved sigh before turning on his heel and making for the back door. He turns back before pushing it open.

“Thanks, guys.”

Jody and Donna both smile encouragingly, and Donna makes a shooing motion with her hands. It’s the last thing he really registers until he’s pushing his way through the door of the coffee shop and finally sees Sam. He’s hunched over the table closest to the front door, a plastic bag filled with ice pressed to his shoulder, looking like a slightly drowned and muddy rat. The tiny redhead seated across from him seems to be holding his phone hostage, but she looks both concerned and a little bit guilty.

“Sam?” Dean says as he crosses the short distance and crouches down beside his brother to get a better look at him. There’s no blood anywhere, so that’s sort of a relief, but the fact Sam only makes a pained noise in reply and can barely lift his head to acknowledge Dean’s presence is definitely concerning. “What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

“I believe I had a hand in that,” the redhead, who Dean assumes must be the Rowena he spoke to on the phone, offers.

“It was an accident,” Sam grits out, wincing in pain as he tries to look up at her. “I shoulda been looking where I was going.”

“Samuel, you’re a true gentleman, but you’re a right git if you think I’m not equally at fault.” Rowena turns to Dean and ignores Sam’s additional protests. “We had an unintended collision. We were both running in opposite directions through the downpour, and shared a particularly poor bit of timing rounding a corner. Rather than plowing me down like a patch of damp sod, Sam managed to keep me on my feet by flinging himself off the walkway into the road.” She gives Sam a little smirk. “Most men are content to lay their coat down in the road for a lady, but not your Sam. He goes in full-body with his chivalrous gestures.”

Sam only groans again. He doesn’t see Dean’s look of complete disbelief, but Rowena does. She raises an eyebrow at Dean, who rolls his eyes and hooks a thumb in Rowena’s direction.

“You mean to tell me you were knocked on your ass by this pixie?”

“At least I didn’t crush her to death,” Sam grumbles out. “I think my shoulder’s crushed, though.”

Dean considers that for a second, and offers Rowena a half smile before standing up, satisfied that Sam’s not in imminent danger of succumbing to his injuries.

“We should probably get that x-rayed, then,” Dean finally decides. “I’d tell you to just walk it off, but you haven’t un-hunched since I got here. I don’t think walking’s gonna fix it.”

Rowena hands Dean Sam’s phone, giving Sam a concerned glance. “I put my number in there. Will you have him call me to let me know that he’s okay?”

Dean pockets the phone. “Oh shit,” he says, pulling out his own phone and sending Donna a text, since she was the last person he’d messaged.

<<_ Sam fucked up his shoulder, taking him for xrays. He’ll live. _

He snaps a quick picture of Sam looking all half drowned and pathetic and sends that as well.

Donna texts him back a few seconds later.

>>_ That’s a relief. We’re locking up. Let us know when you’re both home safe. _

_ >>And dry _

Dean sends back a thumbs up emoji and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“Can you stand on your own, or should I see if they got a dolly I can strap you to like Hannibal Lecter?”

It takes him a minute, but eventually Sam manages to stand. He reflexively tries to reach down for his backpack and makes a manful yipping noise as the movement strains his injured shoulder. Dean sighs and picks up the heavy bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Sam can finally get a good look at Rowena without having to lift his head from this new angle.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he says to her. “And I appreciate you sitting with me.”

She looks him in the eye, which amuses the hell out of Dean considering she’s like half of Sam’s size even with him all hunched over in pain.

“You go get yourself taken care of, and give me a call when you’re feeling better. I’ll take you out for coffee to thank you for not pressing me to death like a common witch.”

Sam looks down at the table between them, and their half-drunk coffees. “Isn’t that what we just did?”

Rowena smiles at him, and then reaches up to pat his uninjured shoulder. “We’ll do it properly next time, when you’re not wailing and moaning instead of exchanging pleasantries.”

If someone had used that line on Dean, he’d have a dozen snappy-- if entirely inappropriate-- comebacks at the ready. He wisely chooses to employ none of them in this situation. This poor woman has already been traumatized enough for one day.

“Yeah, well, we should probably get going,” Dean says instead. “Thanks again.”

Rowena nods, and then holds the door open for Sam to shuffle through it. Dean hurries ahead of Sam to open the car door for him, and then flings his bag in the back seat before racing around through the rain to the driver’s side. It’s not raining nearly as hard as it had been, but hell if he’s gonna let himself get soaked through when he’ll probably be spending the rest of the evening sitting in the waiting room at the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s only a five minute drive across campus to the hospital, and thankfully the rain finally seems to be tapering off by the time he pulls up outside the emergency entrance. Sam, the idiot, tries to open his door himself out of habit, and flings himself back against the seat with a howl of pain as his shoulder protests the motion.

“Dammit, Sammy, just hold your fucking horses,” Dean barks at him as he dashes around the car. “Your gimp ass can damn well wait two more goddamn seconds. It’s probably gonna be an hour or two before they see you, anyway. That's what you get hurting yourself at rush hour.”

Dean doesn’t notice the man in hospital scrubs who’s come outside to help him at first. He’s so busy trying to help Sam get to his feet without sending him into another paroxysm of agony that it’s actually Sam who spots the doctor first.

“Please tell me you’re here to help,” Sam says, and Dean gives him a look like _ what the fuck did you think I was here for_, before realizing Sam was speaking to someone standing behind him.

“You seem to be having some difficulty,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Novak.”

Dean lets out a relieved breath and shuffles over far enough for the doctor to move up beside him. Dean grabs Sam’s good hand, while the doctor carefully supports Sam’s back as he gets to his feet.

“Thanks, Doc,” Dean says, finally able to get a good look at the doctor and regretting everything in his life that _ this _ is the circumstance they had to meet under. It doesn’t stop him from at least being charming, if not full-on flirtatious. Under any other conditions, Dean would be doing whatever it took to get to know the beautiful, if a bit bedraggled, blue eyed man. “I didn’t know the hospital had a drive through now.”

Doctor Novak chuckles and tries to keep Sam moving toward the door now that he’s upright. “I just happened to peek out the window to see if the rain had stopped and saw you pull up. Curbside service is not included under most insurance coverage.”

It’s Dean’s turn to laugh, but since Sam is currently literally sandwiched between them, he puts one of his giant feet down before Dean can make a joke about the doctor sending him an itemized bill, or worse, bust out the Dr. Sexy lines he knows Dean has saved up.

“Dean, you can flirt with the doctor later, preferably when I’m not stuck in the middle of it. I think I’ve suffered enough today,” Sam adds, with a dark glance at his brother. “Could you grab my backpack? I got a paper due tomorrow, and I need to finish it.”

Dean groans and shoots the doctor an apologetic look, and to his delight finds the man blushing slightly. “You got this?” Dean asks both of them.

Sam nods while Dr. Novak replies, “I’ll escort him to the reception desk. You’ll also need to move your car out of the ambulance lane. They usually give you five minutes’ grace before calling the towing company.”

Dean freezes in horror at the thought of his Baby getting towed. Cas and Sam stop with him, but Sam rolls his eyes and pushes Dean away with his good arm.

“Go save your precious car from that unthinkable fate, and bring my backpack when you come back.”

He’s all curled in on himself in pain, but Sam does manage to remain standing without Dean’s support and shuffles off toward the automatic doors. Dr. Novak shoots Dean an apologetic look, and then turns to give Sam his full attention.

“Well at least it looks like we won’t be waiting long to see the doctor, anyway,” Dean mutters under his breath as he finally hands Sam his phone and hurries back to the car.

Finding a parking spot isn’t quite as easy, but at least the rain’s almost completely stopped. And the walk gives him time to explore some less than professional thoughts about the doctor. He noticed the scrubs and rumpled lab coat, which is more than enough to generate a generic Dr. Sexy fantasy or two, but he’d been completely bowled over by the guy’s eyes. The bedhead that’s more likely the result of a long and exhausting day at work than anything pleasurable doesn’t hurt, either. In Dean’s rain-addled fantasy, it isn’t the doctor’s hands that had caused the damage. He shoves those thoughts away as best he can as he nears the building. He isn’t there for a date, and he won’t even be able to think about that sort of thing until he knows Sam is gonna be okay. Dean makes one last mental note to remind himself to look down and see what kind of shoes the guy’s wearing anyway. He’s probably wearing tennis shoes and not cowboy boots. Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t care. Unlike Dr. Sexy, this guy doesn’t need the cowboy boots to boost his sex appeal. They wouldn’t hurt any, either, Dean concedes.

“Just admit you’re screwed and go inside already,” Dean mutters to himself when he realizes he’s stalled just outside the sliding door into the ER. He rolls his eyes at himself, hefts Sam’s bag up on his shoulder, takes a deep breath, and heads inside.

***

Cas quickly discovers the very tall man-- _ Sam _, the other man called him-- doesn’t need much help walking. Bending, twisting, and even standing up straight do pose significant challenges, and his steps are careful and measured to minimize his pain, but at least he’s able to remain on his feet as he shuffles through to the reception desk. After a quick visual inspection, noting his soaked clothing and the patch of light mud down the man’s back and side, and the way he’s holding his injured arm, Cas assumes he’s been the victim of a fall.

“So is your injury weather-related?” he asks, to make polite conversation but also because it’s his job.

Sam seems surprised that Cas is still there by his side, waiting to offer support or assistance if he needs it.

“Uh, yeah, sort of,” Sam says. “Had a near collision over by the law library running through the rain. I jumped out of the way to avoid running someone over, and jumped a little too far. Off the sidewalk and into the road.”

Cas frowns, taking a closer look at Sam’s shoulder. “I suppose you should feel lucky there was no traffic, then.”

Sam blinks at him for a second and then takes the last few steps up to the desk and huffs out a laugh. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I could’ve been roadkill.”

“How can I help you?” The kindly woman running the desk asks.

“I, uh, I fell and landed funny on my shoulder,” Sam starts, and then grabs his left elbow to take some of the weight off his sore arm. “I think… I think I might’ve really hurt it.”

The nurse, Mildred according to her name tag, smiles sympathetically. “Don’t you worry. Dr. Novak here will see to it you’re right as rain before you know it.”

Cas snorts out a laugh. “Rain is evidently the reason things went _ wrong _. But the sentiment stands.”

Sam gives him a relieved smile, but Mildred is already sliding a clipboard of paperwork across the counter at Sam before he can say anything else.

“I’ll need you to fill this out, and I’ll also need a copy of your ID and insurance card. Are you a student here?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I am,” Sam says, letting go of his injured arm with a hiss of pain and reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Third year law school.” He hands over the cards and then leans heavily against the counter as he begins filling out the paperwork.

Cas watches him struggle for less than a minute before jumping in to the rescue.

“If you’d be more comfortable, and if it’s okay with Mildred, I can take you back to one of the exam rooms where you can recline and take some of the pressure off that shoulder.”

Sam looks up from his paperwork, then glances at Mildred just in time to accept his cards back from her. She gives Cas a fond smile and then turns a professionally blank face on Sam.

“Dr. Novak is always going above and beyond. You’re officially in the system now, so I’ll mark you down for curtain three,” she says, entering the information into her computer.

Cas reaches over and collects the clipboard and pen while Sam’s filing away his ID in his wallet. “Mildred thinks I lack professionalism because I don’t make patients wait at least five minutes before being seen,” he says, with a smirk over his shoulder at the nurse in question.

Mildred raises an eyebrow and is about to make a snappy comeback when she notices the state of the back of Sam’s jacket and her entire demeanor shifts into protective mother hen mode.

“And be sure to get this young man out of that soaking wet coat.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t track any mud over the bedsheets,” Cas assures her, leading Sam off toward a wide double door into the exam area. He pushes a button on the wall and both doors slowly swing open.

“Will my brother be able to get back here?” Sam asks. “I really need to get to work on that paper. It’s the whole reason I’m in this mess to begin with. If I hadn’t stopped at the library to finish my research, I wouldn’t have gotten caught in the downpour.”

Cas frowns at that, takes in Sam’s current state. The man, Dean he thinks Sam called him, could wait another two minutes while he got Sam settled comfortably. He decides to keep walking instead of making Sam stand there and wait.

“I’ll let Mildred know to send him back, but first we’re gonna get you situated. Your brother and your paper can wait just a few more minutes.”

Sam looks like he’s about to protest, but then shrugs his good shoulder with only a small wince of pain. “Yeah, fine. How much farther is it?”

Another nurse’s station sits in the center of a ring of curtained-off exam areas. Cas leads Sam around to the open curtain with a large number 3 suspended from the ceiling above it.

“We’re here, actually,” Cas replies, waving off a nurse who tries to come to their aid. He leads Sam to the hospital bed and reaches for the controller to raise the head of the bed into a semi-reclined position. “Do you need some help?” 

Sam slowly lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed with a relieved sigh and begins trying to shrug out of his coat. He gets his good arm free, but his entire body tenses up when he tries to raise his left arm to slide it out of his sleeve. Cas lays a hand on his arm to stop him, and then gently helps him free his injured arm, tossing the sodden coat onto a chair. To his surprise, Sam manages to raise his legs and twist around, cradling his sore shoulder and hissing through his teeth as he lays back against the pillow.

Cas hands him the clipboard as soon as Sam opens his eyes again. “I’ll go let Mildred know to allow your brother in when he arrives. I’m also ordering an x-ray just to be on the safe side.”

“Thanks, doc,” Sam says, arranging his paperwork in his lap.

“What’s your brother’s name?” Cas asks, and when Sam gives him a funny look with a raised eyebrow, Cas remembers the conversation between the brothers from outside. The heat he’d felt in his cheeks at Sam’s insistence that Dean had been flirting with him returned with a vengeance. “For Mildred. She’ll need his name for her records.”

Sam gives him a considering look for a second, and then nods slowly. “Yeah, sure. It’s Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Dean, right,” Cas says, nodding as he backs away from the foot of the bed, nearly stumbling over a crash cart. He catches Sam’s smirk as he goes back to filling out his paperwork, but at least he knows he’d heard the man’s name right. “I’ll, uh… You fill that out and I’ll be back to examine your shoulder in a few minutes.” Then he turns and hurries out of the curtained-off room, earning a smirk from the nurse who’d obviously overheard their entire conversation. He narrows his eyes at her, and she snorts as she goes back to her work.

“I’ll order that x-ray for you,” the nurse calls out to him.

“Thank you, Anael,” Cas replies, and walks off the ward with as much dignity as he can muster.

“No paperwork for me, yet?” Mildred asks when Cas returns to her desk.

“Not yet, Mildred. I’m surprised anyone ever finishes it before dying of old age.”

“One of the benefits of working at a university hospital. Lots of young patients with years to fill out forms before they eventually need to be admitted to the geriatric ward.”

“Sam’s brother will need a visitor badge when he comes in,” Cas says. “Dean Winchester. Will you send him back?”

Mildred raises an eyebrow and tilts her head toward the door, and the rather frantic looking man hurrying across the lobby toward them. “Well, if that’s Dean Winchester, I definitely wouldn’t send him back. I’d keep him for myself.”

Castiel glances up and sees Dean barreling up, burdened with an overstuffed backpack. He feels his cheeks flush a bit at Mildred’s assessment, but doesn’t have time to reply to her before Dean drops the heavy bag on the counter with a grunt.

“Damn, no wonder falling down wrecked Sam’s shoulder,” Dean says, twisting and stretching his back, rolling the shoulder now free of its burden. “If he carries that damn thing around all day I got a new appreciation for how often he calls me for a ride. Damn.”

Cas lets out a soft laugh. “Graduate school will either leave you incredibly fit, or with a permanent hunchback.”

“Or a busted shoulder,” Dean adds, clearing his throat. “So, where’s Sam? Is he gonna live? Will you need to amputate? Or at least convince him he’s overdue for a haircut?”

Cas laughs outright at that. “So you’re definitely brothers, I see. But Mildred will still need your ID to generate a visitor’s pass for you.”

Dean glances down at Mildred, who’s smiling up at him like he’s the most wonderful thing she’s seen all week, and fumbles for his wallet. Mildred leans toward Cas and tells him in a not-very-confidential voice, “Yes sir, I definitely wouldn’t send this one back if I were you.”

Dean doesn’t seem to hear her, at any rate, as distracted as he is, and smiles nervously at Cas as he hands over his driver’s license. Cas is relieved, and does his best to maintain his professional demeanor. Dean’s clearly concerned about his brother, despite the joking, and no matter how good looking or charming the man is, it’s Cas’s job to treat his patient to the best of his ability, and not let himself become distracted flirting with his brother. Especially not with Sam uncomfortably trapped in the room with them, after what he’d said earlier.

Mildred hands over the visitor badge and Dean’s ID, and Dean slaps the sticker to his chest and shoves the card in his pocket as he looks up at Cas.

“So, is that it? Can I go back and see him now?”

“Absolutely,” Cas replies. “Follow me.”

Dean hefts the heavy bag with a huge sigh and follows.

***

Unfair. Life is so fucking unfair. Dean meets a gorgeous, brilliant guy who laughs at his jokes, who makes Dr. Sexy look inadequate, and not only can’t he do a damn thing about it, now he’s got to walk behind the guy. He spends the entirety of the thirty second walk wondering what the doctor would look like without the long white coat covering up those scrubs. At least, Dean notices as they stop to wait for the automatic doors to swing open, he’s not wearing cowboy boots. It’s probably not really practical in a real hospital, with all the running around and getting bled on or puked on or whatever, but Dean’s grateful as fuck about it in that moment. He’s already screwed enough as it is.

“Another one, already, Dr. Novak? And I didn’t even think you’d really gotten started on the last one yet,” Anael says, eyeing Dean from head to toe, and then raising an eyebrow at Cas. “Is the rain washing up all the handsome men from campus to our front door?”

“Last I checked, the rain had stopped,” Dr. Novak replies. “This is Sam’s brother.”

Dean nods at her, which earns him a smile before the doctor is leading him off again without another word. The moment he sees Sam, everything else is forgotten anyway. Aside from the fifty pounds of books he’s got slung over his shoulder. Dean dumps the bag unceremoniously on a chair atop Sam’s jacket and blows out a breath of relief.

“Hey, hey, be careful. My laptop’s in there, you jerk.”

“That’s what you get for trying to carry everything you own to class, bitch,” Dean replies. “And if your laptop survived falling from giraffe height into the road, I think it’ll survive getting dumped into a cushy hospital chair.”

Sam’s eyes go wide at that, and Dean holds up a placating hand, realizing that the thing might actually be smashed in there, and this is the first it’s even occurred to Sam as a possibility.

“Fine, I’ll check it for you. You just do what the doc says,” Dean adds, waving a hand at Dr. Novak, who’s standing patiently by the bedside flipping through six pages of intake forms that Sam’s filled out. Dean unzips the backpack and proceeds to prove that Sam’s laptop is still functioning as Dr. Novak begins asking questions.

“No allergies, no current medications, no known illness,” he confirms with Sam, and then sets the clipboard aside and begins his physical examination of Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll take that to be processed when I’m done, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remove your shirt to get a better look here.”

“I was afraid of that,” Sam says with a groan as he begins unbuttoning his flannel. “See that, Dean? He wants to get a better look at _ me _, so you can officially lay off, right?”

“You’re the one he’s getting paid to look at, dumbass,” Dean replies, not bothering to rise to Sam’s bait.

“Your brother’s right,” Dr. Novak says. “This is what I’m getting paid for. And it’s as good a time as any to evaluate your range of motion and assess your injury.”

Dean clicks around on the laptop for another minute making sure everything’s in working order while Sam groans through the process of removing his flannel and the t-shirt beneath it. He only glances up a couple of times, taking in the careful assistance the doctor gives him. When he’s satisfied, Dean turns the laptop around to show Sam the screen, and then shuts it and slides it back into his bag to Sam’s visible relief.

“Wow, you have some impressive tattoos,” Dr. Novak says as he helps lift Sam’s t-shirt over his head.

“Thanks,” Dean says, earning himself a confused look from the doctor.

“Dean did them all,” Sam explains.

Dr. Novak gives Dean a considering look, and then turns his attention back to Sam’s shoulder, covered in a large, menacing black dog haloed in blue with glowing red eyes, whose body continues around to his back.

“It’s impossible to tell if there’s any bruising through the black ink, but I think it’s safe to assume there will be some minor swelling after a fall severe enough to bring you to the emergency room.”

“You didn’t fuck up your hellhound, did you, Sammy?” Dean says, getting to his feet to move in for a closer look.

“Your artwork was spared any injury, Dean,” the doctor says, with a hint of laughter in his voice. “Sam’s shoulder is another matter. I ordered x-rays already.”

He continues his exam, lifting Sam’s arm, checking his reflexes and stopping occasionally, Dean notes, to admire more of Sam’s tattoos. The tangle of flowers and vines up his arm, the black star in a ring of flames on his chest, and the portrait of a far more normal looking dog on his other shoulder all garner a few moments of admiration from the doctor. Sam hisses in another breath and flinches away from the doctor’s careful touch, effectively ending the exam.

“Right, I think the humerus might be fractured. I’m gonna see if they’re ready for you in x-ray yet.”

The doctor pulls back the curtain to see the nurse waiting with her arms folded across her chest and a wheelchair at her side. She casts an appraising eye at Sam, but then is right back to business.

“I’m here to take him now,” Anael says.

The doctor nods at her, and moves the wheelchair to the side of the bed for Sam to get in. After a resigned groan, Sam manages to swing his legs around and slide out of bed himself.

“We’ll have him back in a few minutes,” Anael says, and then wheels Sam off down the hall.

Dean heaves a sigh of relief and slumps back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. He doesn’t even realize the doctor’s still there until he eventually attempts to make polite conversation.

“So, you’re a tattoo artist?”

Dean blinks his eyes open and forces himself to un-slump. “Yeah, I got a shop just off campus. Why, you thinkin’ about getting inked up?”

The doctor shrugs. “I’ve considered it, but I see a lot of tattoos in my line of work, and not all of them are enviable. You do very good work.”

Dean laughs and relaxes a little bit. “I guess that counts as an expert review, so thanks, doc.”

“Definitely not expert, but based on extensive observation,” the doctor amends.

The doctor regards him curiously, and Dean wonders if the man is trying to imagine what sort of art Dean has hidden beneath his clothes. He shows no trace of embarrassment at being caught staring, and Dean’s hopes sink a little bit that maybe he wasn’t thinking about more than just the ink after all. Still, even more reason to be a little bit daring, despite Sam’s warning not to flirt. There’s no harm in it if the guy is just being friendly. Flirting, with or without intent, is still one of Dean’s favorite hobbies. At least he’s not offering to strip down for the guy, thank you very much.

“Kinda curious now about some of those unenviable tattoos you’ve seen,” Dean says, letting his face soften into a smile. “You know, in a professional capacity.”

He’s not really expecting a serious answer, but the doctor gives him far more than he asked for.

“Your lines are sharp and clear, there’s no bleeding or fading or irregularity in the colors,” the doctor begins. “Sam is young, so he hasn’t had his tattoos long enough for them to age poorly, but it’s clear your work is still well above average. I’ve never seen such realistic tattoos of flowers or vines before. And the dog--”

Dean laughs, startling the doctor out of his assessment and earning a confused head tilt. “Which one, the hellhound or Bones?”

“The golden retriever,” the doctor clarifies, and Dean grins.

“Yeah, that was our neighbor’s dog when we were kids. Dad wouldn’t let us have one, so Sam sort of adopted him as his own. Took him for walks, gave him more attention than his owners did, until we had to move. Broke the kid’s heart. Had a longer goodbye with the damn dog than he did with any of the other kids in the neighborhood.”

The doctor smiles, and Dean shakes his head, letting the memory fade.

“Sam’s always had a good heart,” Dean says. “Soon as he’s done with school and out on his own, he’ll probably clear out the nearest animal shelter.”

“Sam lives with you?” the doctor asks, and Dean realizes his face must be doing something weird, because the man clears his throat and looks away for a moment before clarifying. “For the purposes of meeting his needs for ongoing care, of course. He’s likely to need some help during his recovery.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I got him covered. Guess I’ll be driving him around more. Not like he can drag that thing around with a busted wing,” he adds, pointing to the heavy backpack. “Long as he doesn’t need me to type up essays or take notes for him in class, we’re golden. Unless he wants doodles instead of actual notes.”

The doctor’s giving him that curious look again, and Dean can’t help but feel like he’s being mentally undressed. Not that he’d object to that, but he’s letting himself wonder how much of the man’s curiosity is about his tattoos, and how much is plain old interest now. And that is definitely an interesting development.

What should be an awkward couple of moments feels strangely comfortable, and Dean is about to turn their conversation back to tattoos, when the doctor opens his mouth to say something else that never gets a chance to materialize. Anael wheels Sam back through the curtain, and the doc turns away, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Sam gives Dean a glare as he levers himself out of the chair and sits down on the edge of the bed. Dean maintains the look of complete innocence until Sam rolls his eyes. Anael steps carefully between them to the light box on the wall and switches it on, handing the x-rays to the doctor. He slides the films up and studies them for a moment before sighing and turning back to Sam.

“You’ve got a hairline fracture of your left humerus. It’ll heal up on its own in a few weeks, but I’m going to give you a sling to wear. It’ll take some of the pressure off the bone as it heals, and keep you from accidentally injuring it further.”

Anael nods at this information and steps out to fetch a sling without even being asked. Dean watches her go, then turns his attention back to the doctor, and then to Sam.

“So you got a delicate funny bone, huh? At least this doesn’t sound as bad as that time you jumped off the garage roof and broke your wrist. You don’t even get a cast for all your little classmates to sign.”

“Something tells me third year law students don’t care about signing people’s casts. Most of my classmates back then couldn’t sign my cast anyway, since you drew all over it.”

“Yeah, well, my drawings were better than twenty versions of _ get well soon _ in first grader handwriting.”

Sam just shrugs at that, but then grins at him. “I can’t argue with that. How many kids get Batman on their casts?”

“Far too few, I’m afraid,” the doctor says in all seriousness, reminding Dean yet again that he is still there.

Anael returns with the sling, handing it over to the doctor with a wink, and then disappears again. The doctor helps Sam put his shirts back on, and then demonstrates how to wear the sling.

“You can take it off to shower, or if you’re sitting quietly doing your school work, but if you’re up and moving around, you should keep it on just as a precaution, for at least a few weeks. You can also take ibuprofen for any pain you’re experiencing.” He pulls several sample packets of the pain reliever out of a drawer and hands them to Sam, who rips one open and dry swallows it on the spot.

“So do I need to come back?”

The doctor shrugs. “If you don’t have any further complications, you shouldn’t need to.”

He glances at Dean, and Dean can’t help but think there’s a bit of regret in the look he gives him. Dean doesn’t have time to process what it might mean before the man is back to business, running down the list of dos and don’ts, and explaining the recovery process. He gets to the part about Sam’s discharge paperwork, and only then realizes he never actually processed his intake paperwork when he glances down at the clipboard.

“Huh, I suppose Mildred will have to process you in and out in one go,” The doctor says, signing off on the forms. “Which means I’ll need to walk you out to the front desk, as soon as you’re ready, Sam.”

Sam glances over at Dean and tilts his head toward his heavy backpack. Dean rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh.

“So I lugged this in here for nothing, huh? And now my reward is getting to carry it out again?” Dean says, pushing himself to his feet and making a dramatic show of hoisting Sam’s bag.

“I’ve been carrying it every day for years,” Sam says, letting the doctor help him to his feet. “I think you can manage it for the next ten minutes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean says, and slowly follows them out to the front desk.

“Back so soon?” Mildred asks when she sees them again.

Sam nods, while the doctor hands her the stack of papers that she immediately sets to work entering into Sam’s file. She prints off a couple more forms for Cas to sign, including Sam's discharge paperwork. Dean sets Sam’s backpack down on the floor between his feet and watches the doctor answer a few questions for both Mildred and Sam, watches the man’s long fingers fiddle with his pen, watches him page through documents and sign his name with a scribble. He debates with himself for five minutes before finally digging out his wallet and pulling out one of his business cards. He picks up a pen and quickly writes his personal number on the back, and waits until the doctor hands his finished paperwork to Mildred.

“So, um, Dr. Novak,” Dean starts, holding out his card. “If you’re serious about getting a tattoo, I figure I owe you one for taking care of Sam.”

The doctor gives him a curious look, but the corner of his mouth ticks up and Dean figures he wasn’t entirely off base, anyway. Dr. Novak looks down at the card, and flips it over and sees the second phone number on the back.

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, in case you just wanted to talk about tattoos after hours sometime, too. You know, or maybe get coffee or something.”

Dr. Novak looks up from the card, and Dean’s suddenly extremely glad he took the risk. At the end of what’s clearly been a very long day for him, the doctor gives him a warm and genuine smile as he pockets the card.

“Thank you, Dean. That sounds like a good idea.”

Dean can feel Sam glaring at him, and he knows he’s pushing his luck. Sam is definitely gonna give him shit about this for at least as long as he has to wear that dumb sling, but if the hot doctor actually calls him, it’ll be totally worth it. He smiles at the doctor and sticks out a hand to shake.

“Okay, then. Thanks for fixing Sam up. Call me, or text me, or whatever, when you get a chance.”

“I’ll do that, Dean. And by the way, it’s Cas.” Dean blinks at him for a second, and Cas clarifies. “My name. It’s Cas. Short for Castiel.”

Dean gives him the flirtiest smile he dares with Sam still gawping at him. “Well, it’s been really nice meeting you, Cas.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Cas replies, glancing up at the clock. “But unfortunately I have to run now. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Dean gives him a little wave as he hurries away, and then hears Mildred sigh.

“Dr. Novak is a living angel, just so you’re aware, Mr. Winchester.”

It sounds like both approval and a warning, and Dean takes it exactly how Mildred intended. Seriously.

“He sure seems like it.” Dean gives her a genuine smile, assuaging her reservations about his intentions with her friend.

Mildred nods with approval and hands him the rest of Sam’s paperwork. Dean bends down and shoves it in Sam’s backpack before hefting the bag up over his shoulder again.

“You ready, Sam? You think you can walk all the way to the car, or do I need to pick you up by the door?”

Sam rolls his eyes and starts walking. “I think I can make it on foot.”

“Are we gonna have to get you one of those backpacks with wheels?” Dean asks as they walk toward the door.

The last thing Mildred sees as they disappear through the doors is Sam slugging Dean in the shoulder and wrestling his backpack from him just to prove he still can.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas could’ve stood there talking to Dean Winchester all evening, Or even stood there like an idiot just staring at the beautiful man. Fondling the business card in his pocket, he’s giving it better than even odds that Dean might’ve felt the same way. But one look at the traitorous clock had let him know he’d probably missed his ride home, as well. Not like he’s in the mood to share breathing space with Dr. Morningstar in the close confines of the doctor’s car today of all days, but he’s also too exhausted to even want to think about walking all the way home, rain or no rain.

As he pushes open the door to the staff room, fishing Dean’s card out of the pocket of his coat, he can’t help but smile at the one thing that seemingly went right today. Anael’s on her way out the door as he’s walking in, and she startles him out of his daze.

“You’re looking a lot more cheerful than you were a few hours ago,” she says, stepping around him and glancing down at the card. “Got a date with the hot brother?”

“He offered to tattoo me,” Cas says, holding up the card. “I suppose that qualifies as a date in some circles.”

Anael snorts out a laugh. “Just don’t start off getting his name tattooed over your heart. They say that’s bad luck for a relationship.”

She gives him a little finger wave and winks as she breezes out the door, calling out a goodbye over her shoulder as she goes.

Cas shakes his head at her, but goes right to his locker, swapping out his lab coat for his trusty trench coat. Even if the rain’s let up, he feels better wearing the long coat. After years of medical school and residency, he still feels naked outside the hospital in just a set of scrubs. It’s like wearing pajamas outdoors, and he’s not sure he’ll ever feel fully dressed without his coat. Plus, scrubs definitely don’t have enough pockets for everything he carries around with him. Phone, keys, wallet and hospital ID all get transferred to his coat, but the collection of pens, prescription pads, tissues, and other assorted first aid supplies he picked up throughout his shift stay in the deep pockets of his white lab coat.

He stands in front of his locker, looking down at Dean’s card and thinking back over their conversation, wondering if the man’s eyes were really that green or if he had imagined it all. Someone clears their throat behind him, and he shoves the card into his pocket, slams his locker shut, and turns around to see Gabriel leaning against the counter swirling the dregs of a cup of cocoa. He’s half waiting to be teased if Anael already started the gossip circulating about Dean, but Dr. Milton is in an uncharacteristically serious mood. Not even a sip of his chocolate puts a smile on his face.

“Anael said you’ve been seeing patients all afternoon, so you probably haven’t heard yet,” Gabriel starts. “I wanted to give you the heads up, but seeing how you’re done for the day, maybe we should take this somewhere else.”

Cas frowns at him while the first half of the day’s events come flooding back to him in an unwelcome rush. He reluctantly lets Dean’s card go and pulls his hand out of his pocket. “Is this about Mr. Adler?” he asks, not really wanting to think about it, but knowing he has to, sooner or later.

Gabriel nods, gulps the last of his drink and tosses the cup in the trash. He lays a hand on Cas’s shoulder and pushes him toward the door. “What do you say we discuss this over a drink or twelve? My treat.”

Cas resists the push and draws his brow together in a frown. “You’re offering to buy me drinks? Is it that bad?”

Gabriel finally smiles, but it looks anything but happy. “It’s worse than that, kiddo. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Gabriel drives them to his favorite little brew pub over on the other side of the university campus, far from where any of the hospital staff are likely to be hanging out. The little dive isn’t the sort of place most of the hoity toity doctors and admins would be caught dead in. Their loss, since the beer is top notch and the burgers are to die for.

On the drive over, Gabriel keeps up his campaign of not actually addressing their mutual problem, and instead waxes poetic about the fine meal they’re in store for. It’s strangely comforting, Cas finds, that Gabriel is at least back on his usual nonsense. Nothing can completely erase Cas’s fear, but the fact that Gabriel has tucked away the serious Dr. Milton face he’d given him at the hospital gives him hope that he isn’t about to be fired, at least. Unless maybe he is.

Gabriel is all smiles as he walks up to the bar and orders them each a beer and a burger, tells the bartender to run a tab, and then points at a table in the back corner of the room. Cas takes that as his cue to head in that direction, and Gabriel follows a few moments later after exchanging a few quiet words with the bartender while the man pours their drinks.

“So,” Gabriel says as he slides into his seat and passes one of the beers to Cas. “Lucifer claimed another victim.”

Cas takes a sip of his drink and sighs. He definitely doesn’t come here often enough. He makes a mental note to add it to the very long list of things he plans to do when his residency is finished and he can finally begin to claim back parts of his life he’d sacrificed to unending hours at the hospital. Not to mention the parts he’d given up when he let Dr. Morningstar talk him into renting one of the spare rooms in his house. Unfortunately there’d been no other way he could afford to live so close to the hospital. He’s regretting that convenience even more right now.

“Add my name to the list of his victims, then,” Cas grumbles, and takes another, bigger gulp of his beer.

Gabriel shakes his head, leaning back in his seat. “That’s not funny, Cas.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Well, neither am I,” Gabriel sighs and leans his elbows on the table. “I didn’t bring you here to drown your sorrows, Cassie boy. We’re here to do damage control.”

Cas looks up from idly drawing patterns in the condensation on his glass and stares Gabriel down. “Damage control is not gonna help Mr. Adler.”

“Maybe not, but it might help _ you _.”

Cas snorts and takes another sip, but Gabriel is relentless.

“Look, I’ve only been here for a couple years, but in that time I’ve watched Nick ruin the careers of half a dozen decent doctors and at least that many nurses. I’m pretty sure he’s the reason they fired Consuela from the coffee shop in the lobby, too. He’s amassed a truly impressive collection of fucked over people.”

“I guess I’m next on his hit list, then,” Cas says. “He doesn’t just foist off his mistakes on unsuspecting doctors. It’s like he targets them for annihilation.”

“Exactly,” Gabriel replies. “Which is why I’m fucking _ determined _ to stop him now. That guy should not have a license to practice medicine.”

Cas considers him for a moment, working out what Gabriel means. “You weren’t determined before? When he already ruined so many other lives?”

Gabriel shrugs. “Who says I didn’t try? You’re not the first resident I’ve brought here for this exact chat.”

That stops Cas cold, and he blinks at Gabriel, thinking back to the last person Dr. Morningstar had broken. Vince Vincente had been another of Nick’s boarders. He’d seemed like a nice enough guy during the few months they’d been housemates. Cas may not have appreciated the guy’s taste in music, but he had regularly given Cas rides to and from the hospital when their schedules meshed up, and they’d gotten along for the most part. Until one day a few months back, Vince hadn’t come home for a couple days. When he did, he looked like he’d been keelhauled and abandoned on the beach by pirates. He’d also stank like he’d slept in a rum barrel. He’d holed up in his room for a few days more before leaving a note in the kitchen announcing he’d quit, no forwarding address provided. Nick read the note out over coffee that morning to the three remaining residents. He crushed the note into a ball and tossed it in the trash, sizing each of them up like he was choosing his next victim. Or at least that’s how it had felt to Cas.

“Vince,” is all he says to Gabriel.

Gabriel nods. “He was a lost cause before I got to him. Nick already started the rumor mill grinding by the time I caught wind of it, and Vince let it get to him. But he’d already had a few days to work the guy over. I was at that ortho conference in Atlanta when that shit went down. By the time I brought him here for a little chat, Vince had already been brought before the M&M panel, and he’d bombed his chance to set the record straight. You,” Gabriel says, pointing a finger at Cas. “You got a lot going for you that Vince didn’t.”

Cas snorts and takes another drink.

“I’m serious, Cas. You’re the exception to his rule. The anomaly. It’s probably why he never singled you out before. You never gave him anything to make a target out of. You don’t really have a social life to speak of, you live for your work, and you’ve never been involved in any sort of scandal-- either at home or at work.” Gabriel lists off on his fingers while Cas scowls at him. Gabriel ignores him and presses on. “You’re ten times the surgeon Vince was. You’ve also got a great reputation among the staff. Everyone from the janitors to the nurses to the Dean of Medicine adores you,”

“Yeah, because I don’t hit on everything that moves,” Cas interrupts, but Gabriel keeps talking over him.

“You’re reliable and honest and you’ve never made a mistake like this before.”

Cas scoffs. “I didn’t make _ this _ mistake, either.”

Gabriel nods. “Exactly! And you’ve got me as a witness. I saw exactly what went down in that OR.”

“And you’re willing to stand up against Dr. Morningstar at next week’s Morbidity and Mortality Panel? It will come down to your word against his.”

“You’re not getting it yet,” Gabriel says. “I don’t want to just save your ass, here. I want to make sure he never does this to anyone else. He’s dangerous. Maybe even unhinged. But he shouldn’t be allowed within a mile of any hospital, let alone running the emergency medicine department. He’s the worst kind of doctor, who gets a thrill out of playing god.”

Cas lets Gabriel’s words sink in. He’s knows it’s all true. The bartender brings over their food and a second round of drinks. It gives them a few minutes to eat in silence, chewing over their options and thinking about where they need to go from here.

Clearing Cas of any responsibility in Adler’s death is the easy part. It’s the rest of Gabriel’s plans that have him concerned. Dr. Morningstar has made a career out of manipulating everyone and everything around him for his own entertainment. He knows how to schmooze the people he needs to keep in his pocket, and he knows how to nudge his underlings into self-destructing. He’s elevated destroying people’s lives into an art form. Cas is still stuck on wondering what even drove the man into medicine in the first place. Healing seems like a strange career path for someone who thrives on Nick’s brand of chaos and maliciousness. Gabriel, however, has already moved on to strategy.

“First things first,” he says when he’s finished his burger. “You got anything you need from Nick’s tonight?”

Cas looks up from the sandwich in his hands, confused at the sudden shift in topics. Gabriel clarifies for him.

“You probably shouldn’t be hanging around under the guy’s roof while we’re trying to dismantle his career. I can get a moving crew in there tomorrow, clear out your stuff while he’s at the hospital so he can’t try anything funny. But you really shouldn’t go back there tonight.”

Cas blinks at him and puts his burger down, and then just stares. “Where the hell am I supposed to live?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I have a spare room. You’re more than welcome to it. I’m about six blocks closer to the hospital than Nick is, too, if you need a bigger carrot.”

Cas sits back, his appetite pretty much gone now. “And you won’t mind the intrusion?”

“It’s not an intrusion, Cas. Like I said, you’re not the first resident I’ve had this little chat with. After Vince, I got the guest room all set up. I like to think of it as the emergency escape pod from the SS Lucifer. And that ship is about to go down in flames. Might wanna jump while the gettin’s good.”

Cas takes a moment to really think about this. Nick’s been doing this to people for years, but none of them have ever stuck around long enough to formally accuse him of wrongdoing. Maybe part of it is his choice of victims-- vulnerable people he can easily manipulate, or gaslight into believing his lies. For a moment he wonders why he was chosen, after three years sticking it out, keeping his head down and doing his job. Maybe he wasn’t really chosen at all. Maybe Nick just got sloppy and genuinely fucked up. If that’s the case, he’s far more dangerous than Cas had ever suspected.

He nods his head slowly, takes a deep breath and looks Gabriel in the eye. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m beginning to wonder if Mr. Adler was an intentional victim in all this, or a genuine accident on his part.”

Gabriel shrugs. “He fucked up in front of witnesses this time. And he can’t just blame you and walk away scot free this time.”

“That’s going to make him even more dangerous than usual. Do you think we should warn his other boarders? Kevin Tran and Hannah Johnson?”

“We’ll give ‘em the heads up tomorrow morning, and we’ll keep really close tabs on them, but hopefully we can keep our bigger plans under wraps. They won’t be in any more danger than they’ve been all along.”

Cas frowns and grumbles out a sigh. “I’m not entirely satisfied with that plan, but it seems like the best we can do for now.”

“Hey,” Gabriel says with a smirk, “If we play our cards right, it’ll mean we’ve got two spies behind enemy lines. They’re both smart, capable people. Hopefully they won’t let Nick get to them.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Cas replies.


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m gonna consider this your punishment for nearly burning down my kitchen this morning with your hippie toast,” Dean says as he pulls into his parking spot behind the shop and shuts off the engine.

“Yeah, well I think it’s a sign that I should finally cave and get a car,” Sam replies, pushing open his door with his knee and refusing to sit and wait for Dean to free him.

Dean snorts as he watches Sam gingerly lever himself to his feet, balancing himself with the arm not bound tightly to his chest. “And how are you supposed to drive with one arm, huh, genius?”

“When I’m feeling good enough to ditch the sling, then,” Sam retorts, opening the back door to grab his backpack. “It’ll give me a couple weeks to shop around.”

Dean practically dives into the back seat and beats him to it, slings the bag over his shoulder and then gives Sam a sarcastic jazz hands, just because he can and Sam can’t. Sam rolls his eyes and shuts the door. He reaches the back door to the shop and turns back to see Dean coming with the key in hand. Sam blocks his way the door for just a moment, and when Dean’s about to tell him to get out of the way, likely with a snappy zinger tacked on for good measure, Sam beats him to it.

“Plus, you know, you’re gonna be driving me around for the next few weeks. So who’s really being punished, here?”

Dean rolls his eyes and barrels toward the door. Sam steps aside with a smirk. As they head through the dark back room of the shop toward the stairs to the apartment above, Dean makes a very good point.

“I thought you were saving up for your post-graduation job hunt. You sure you wanna blow that much cash on a car now?”

Sam follows his brother up the stairs. “Yeah, but since I started working in Pamela’s office, at least I’ve had a pretty steady income.”

“You work like ten hours a week for her, when you probably should be studying instead,” Dean says, opening the door into their small living room and dropping Sam’s bag onto the sofa before slumping down beside it. “What the hell is she paying you?”

Sam shrugs and grabs up his bag. “Fifteen an hour. Plus it’s great experience.”

Pamela Barnes runs the legal practice next door to Dean’s shop. She mostly handles intellectual property and contracts, and if Dean’s learned one thing about her in the years he’s known her, it’s that he’d never, ever try to bullshit her about anything. When she offered Sam some part time work around her office, Dean was more than happy that Sam accepted. If he’s intent on becoming a scumbag, at least he’s got a positive role model. Although Dean really hopes Sam never develops her freaky, almost psychic ability to read people cold. He shivers just thinking about it, and then notices Sam setting himself up at the kitchen table and stacking his library books beside his laptop.

“I was gonna order a pizza and watch a movie or something,” he says.

“I’ll take a vegetarian and a side salad,” Sam replies, not even bothering to look up from his work.

Dean rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, muttering under his breath. “I wasn’t asking for your order.” He places the order anyway, and then kicks his feet up on the coffee table and settles in to wait.

What a fucked up day. It had been going so well. He should’ve been coming home from dinner with Jody and Donna and settling in to obsess over his drawings from this morning. He’d been close to a breakthrough on that angel, or at least it feels that way now. But the vision he’d felt so tangibly that morning in the shower feels like a distant memory that he can’t quite grab on to again as he squeezes his eyes closed and rubs the bridge of his nose. He walks himself through a recap of his entire day trying to recapture that lost glimpse of his angel.

It goes pretty well until he gets to the phone call. The cosmic record scratch that derailed his mental train. The pixie woman with the Scottish accent and the take-no-shit attitude. Sam’s honestly lucky the chick he’d nearly plowed into is so understanding. Dean doesn’t move, but he yells out to Sam.

“Hey, did you call back the redhead to tell her you’re gonna live?”

Sam makes a grumbling noise as he riffles through stacks of papers scattered across the tabletop until he finds his phone. “Yeah, I’m texting her now.”

“You do that,” Dean mutters, leaving Sam to deal with it and sinking back into his jumbled thoughts. The coffee shop, the rain, the drive to the hospital, and whoa. His thoughts screech to a halt on one Dr. Cas… Novak, he thinks. Cas Novak. Dean still can’t believe he actually gave the guy his card, with his personal number scrawled on the back, no less. He gives his phone an idle glance, already knowing full well the doctor hasn’t tried to contact him. And yep, no new messages. No missed calls. Dean sighs and drops the phone on the cushion beside him and shuts his eyes again.

The chances the hot doctor will ever call him are about as likely as snow falling in Hell, but Dean’s got a great imagination and doesn’t let reality get in his way. He imagines the doctor wandering into his shop on a slow afternoon, maybe to get a tattoo but also maybe just to see Dean again. In his mind, Dean vacillates between rendering their meeting as the meet cute they could’ve had if they’d met almost anywhere else, and something along the lines of the first five minutes of every porno he’s ever seen. He’s kinda torn as to which version he’s enjoying more.

His daydream sustains him until the back door buzzer sounds. He groans and pushes himself up off the sofa, and heads downstairs to collect his pizza. He hands Tony his usual exorbitant tip despite the fact the guy only has to walk a block to deliver it. Dean has tried insisting on walking over and picking it up himself, but Tony insists on delivering it with his own two hands, and so their grudging compromise is that Tony lets Dean tip him far too much, which Dean knows Tony balances out by charging him five bucks less for the food in the first place. It’s a complicated dance, but everyone walks away happy, and that’s all Dean really cares about in the end. Well, that and Tony’s amazing pizza. He hunches over the boxes in his hands as he returns to the apartment, inhaling the heavenly aroma as his stomach serenades him in anticipation.

Dean drops his pizza box on the coffee table on his way to the kitchen with Sam’s pizza and salad. He eyes Sam’s situation, the table completely covered with notes and books that don’t look particularly compatible with one-handed pizza consumption. In the end, he pulls out a chair and sets the boxes down on it, then grabs a stack of napkins and a fork out of the drawer and drops them on top of the boxes. Sam barely grunts out an acknowledgement as he pages through his notes and finds whatever he was looking for and blocks it out with a pink highlighter marker.

“You want a plate, or are you better off eating straight outta the box?” Dean asks, digging in the fridge for a beer.

“This is fine,” Sam replies, pulling the chair with his dinner closer and twisting around so it’s between his knees. “Would you mind getting me a glass of water, though?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he’s already getting a glass out of the cabinet and filling it. He teases his brother for being a stick in the mud, but he’s so damn proud of what he’s working toward that it’s obvious it’s all an act.

“One large water for the moose at table one,” Dean says, holding it out for his brother rather than risking trying to put it down anywhere on Sam’s sea of notes. “I guess yell if you need anything else.”

Dean cracks open his beer and tosses the cap in the trash, takes a swig and sighs. Sam gives him a nod and a distracted smile, then shuffles his papers around enough to make room for his glass and sets to work on his salad while continuing to pour over his notes. Dean’s natural instincts are screaming at him to help, to be useful, to keep Sam company or take care of him, but Sam clearly doesn’t need his help. He’s just a distraction, so the best way he can take care of Sam is to leave him in peace.

He knows Sam will just tune out the television if he keeps it on the quiet side, but Dean’s not in the mood for a visual distraction. That pesky angel is still eluding him, and he’s beginning to wonder if that doesn’t have something to do with the blue eyed doctor. For some strange reason, Dean can’t shake the image of his angel hovering in front of the moon in a billowing doctor’s coat instead of the standard flowing robes. It’s frustratingly unsatisfying, like somehow he’s on the right track yet still miles and miles from his destination. He can’t even decide what to listen to, standing in front of the shelves of his record collection and not even really seeing it.

After a frustrating minute, he sits down on the sofa and sets his beer down beside his pizza. He pulls out his phone and brings up the playlist that normally runs over the soundsystem down in the shop. It’s large and eclectic enough that there’s guaranteed to be something that helps his mind settle down and focus. It’s just a bonus that it’s all music he now subconsciously associates with work. It runs quietly in the background, fueling Dean’s imagination as he finishes eating. Half a dozen songs and a half hour later, he boxes up the rest of his pizza and takes it to the fridge, swapping it out for another beer. He watches Sam for a moment, already entirely engrossed in his work again and clearly done eating. Without even asking, Dean tosses the empty salad container and shoves the rest of Sam’s pizza in the fridge. He refills his water glass and sets it back where Sam had placed it before, and that finally gets Sam’s attention.

“You good?” Dean asks, and Sam blinks up at him and nods.

“Yeah, man. Thanks. For dinner, for picking me up today and dealing with this shit,” Sam says, pointing at the sling now just dangling loose around his neck, freeing his hand to type.

“Hey, no big. That’s what family does, right?”

Sam just grins at him for a second. “Yeah, sure.”

Dean nods back. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna turn in. Maybe draw for a bit. You’re probably gonna want a ride in the morning, right?”

Sam tries to shrug, and winces and rubs his sore shoulder. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it. My first class isn’t until nine tomorrow, so you don’t have to get up early, at least.”

“Just so long as I don’t wake up to the fire alarm again, we’re square,” Dean replies, tapping Sam’s uninjured shoulder more gently than he usually would and shuffling off toward his room.

He spends the next few hours completely obsessed with the angel in a lab coat, wondering if he’s making progress or just wandering farther and farther into the weeds.

***

Gabriel’s implied drinking binge to drown their sorrows never comes to pass. He asks the bartender for the check after their second round of drinks, and Cas gives him a disbelieving look. Gabriel signs the receipt and pockets his credit card, but doesn’t miss Cas’s skeptical glance.

“Turns out you’re a cheap date, Castiel,” Gabriel says as they stand up and head toward the door. “I thought for sure I’d need to ply you with more alcohol than that before you saw the light.”

Cas snorts, still almost entirely sober after only two drinks. “Don’t confuse me with Vince. I like to think I’m at least more receptive to logic and reason than he ever was.”

“You’re not wrong there, buddy,” Gabriel replies, leading them back to his car. “So, last chance, do you need anything from home for tonight? I got a spare toothbrush and a drawer full of scrubs if you need a change of clothes for work tomorrow.”

As he climbs into Gabriel’s car, Cas pulls out his phone and checks the battery level, which is creeping dangerously close to zero. “I’ll need to charge my phone…”

Before he can even finish the sentence, Gabriel hands him the end of a cable. Cas stares at it for a moment and then looks up into Gabriel’s smirking face as he waggles the cable at him.

“Go on, I got power to spare,” he says, and revs the engine. “I’ve got half a dozen spare chargers at home, too. I’m always losing the damn things, so I’ve got them in like every room of the house now. It’s convenient,” he adds, when Cas raises an eyebrow and takes the cable, plugging in his phone.

“In that case, I’d prefer to have clean socks and underwear, and something besides scrubs to sleep in,” Cas says, plucking at the stiff cotton of his shirt.

“No problemo, I got you covered. Literally, in this case,” Gabriel says, turning a corner and steering them in the opposite direction to Nick’s.

Cas takes a deep breath and nods, accepting that he’s likely never going back to the place where he’s lived for the last three years. He stares out the window as they drive down a mostly commercial block that he’s never really explored properly before. He’s rarely had a reason to venture out in this direction, confining his exploration of the town to what lay between his residence and the hospital. It’s almost a novel experience to discover that Palo Alto has more to offer than the worn out rut of his life would lead him to believe.

Gabriel makes another turn and that’s when Cas sees it. Winchester Tattoo. Dean’s shop. He wonders how he could’ve forgotten Dean so quickly, but forgives himself since his entire life had been upended in the last two hours.

Cas is mildly disappointed that the lights inside the shop, beyond the glowing green and golden neon sign in the window, are dark. He realizes it’s late now, and Dean likely had to close the shop when he brought his brother to the hospital anyway. At least he knows where it is now, that it’s on the way from Gabriel’s house to the hospital. He slouches back in the seat and idly thumbs at the edge of Dean’s business card in his coat pocket. Maybe one day on his way back to Gabriel’s house from work he’ll actually work up the nerve to go in.

He’s only half paying attention to the next turn Gabriel makes down a quiet residential street just a few blocks past Dean’s shop. When Gabriel pulls up outside a modest bungalow, Cas can hardly believe this is where Gabriel lives. Gabriel gets out of the car, though, and walks toward the front door like he owns the place. He turns back when he realizes Cas is still sitting in the car.

“You comin’, or would you rather sleep in the car tonight?” Gabriel asks.

Cas shakes himself off and follows. “I was expecting something more ostentatious, I guess.”

Gabriel snorts. “Like that country club of a mansion you’ve been living at? Hope this isn’t too much of a letdown after living at Dr. Nick’s compound. Not all of us graduated from Hollywood Upstairs Medical College.”

Cas just blinks at him and Gabriel sighs, unlocking the door.

“Look, I like my space, okay? This is a comfortable, quiet, reliable sort of place to hide out in after a long day at the hospital. And I got plenty of excuses not to throw parties here and let all those yahoos invade my solitude. I got nothin’ to prove to any of them.”

“That’s actually admirable, Gabriel.”

“Are you making fun of me, Cassie? Because two can play at that game,” Gabriel says, pushing open the door and stepping in, turning on lights as he goes. “I’m all about having a good time out on the town, but the only way to maintain that worldly image in public is to leave it behind at the front door when I get home.”

Cas nods as he follows Gabriel inside, taking in the simple but elegant decor, from the warm hardwood floors to the soothing dove grey walls. “I feel like I’ve just walked into a high end day spa, and you’re about to offer me tea and a menu of overpriced kelp wraps and hot stone massages.”

Gabriel freezes with his hand on the living room light switch and slowly turns back to Cas with an intrigued, if surprised, look on his face. “Since when have you been to a place like that? Or, better question, have you ever had an overpriced kelp wrap? Because I can’t tell if that sounds indulgently luxurious or just plain gross.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but then shakes his head and sighs. “Nick enjoys watching the lifestyle channels on cable. I think he believes it promotes a healthy appreciation for his own wealth, knowing all the ways he can spend it frivolously on himself.”

Gabriel makes a snorting noise at that and leads Cas through the living room into the kitchen. “Well, I can offer you a cup of tea, if you think it’ll add to the ambiance, or whatever,” he says, opening a cupboard stocked with several varieties of tea and coffee. “Gotta start the grand tour somewhere, right?”

“Maybe later, before bed,” Cas replies.

Gabriel nods, shutting the cupboard. “At least you know where it is now. Mi casa es tu casa, for the foreseeable future anyway.” He walks around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers, showing Cas where everything he might need can be found. “I just ask that if you use something up, you replace it. We passed the grocery store on the way here, in case you missed it. If you ever need to buy more than you can carry, since I know you walk everywhere, I keep a running list and usually hit the store Friday afternoon on my way home,” he adds, tapping his finger on the notepad stuck to the side of the fridge.

Gabriel continues the tour, leading Cas around the house, through the laundry and mudroom, back through the living room, out to the back porch, and then over to his bedroom and a smaller room he uses as an office. Cas takes it all in, letting Gabriel’s calm decor and welcoming demeanor help him feel more settled than he ever did in nearly three years living at Nick’s. By the time Gabriel shows him to the guest suite, as he calls it, Cas feels right at home.

“So this is your room,” Gabriel says, opening the door to a spacious closet. “Got a closet in here, dresser over there, and your bathroom is right through there.”

Cas steps into the bathroom and turns on the light. It feels like the entire room has been carved out of a mountainside, decorated with deep slate tile inset with bright blue and green glass in a random pattern that, if he squints, almost looks like a trickling stream meandering across the floor. It’s not quite as large as his bathroom at Nick’s, but it’s lovely and serene, and he doesn’t have to share it with anyone else. Gabriel pushes past him and opens up the cupboard in the corner of the room.

“Towels, soap, shampoo, toothbrushes, toothpaste, razors, deodorant,” he says, pointing out the obvious contents of the cupboard. “And if you need anything else tonight, let me know. If I don’t have it, we can run out and get it.”

Cas nods, and Gabriel pushes by him again. He pulls out several of the drawers in the dresser in succession. There’s multiple pairs of brand new socks, a package of plain white t-shirts, a pair of sweats with the tag still on, and half a dozen sets of hospital scrubs folded neatly.

“I haven’t had a chance to fully stock the place with stuff your size, but this should at least keep you from having to go naked, or whatever. Plus, there’s this,” he says, reaching around to the back of the closet door and grabbing a fluffy blue bathrobe, then tossing it on the bed. “It’s not the Four Seasons, but we still provide a luxury robe to enjoy during your stay.”

Cas can’t help but grin at this, but it also draws his attention to the empty closet. His face falls at the sight. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but what about the rest of my things?”

Gabriel nods and turns on his heel, leading Cas back to his office. “Right. We should probably get on that.”

Gabriel’s office is more what Cas would label a personal library. Yes, there’s a desk and a computer, but it feels like an afterthought shoved in the corner and surrounded by bookshelves and an oversized chair that Cas can easily imagine himself falling asleep in while curled up with a good book. Gabriel goes right to the chair and drags it over to the desk, patting the seat and encouraging Cas to sit. He takes the stiff wooden desk chair for himself, cracks his knuckles dramatically, and then opens up the laptop before swiveling his chair around to face Cas. He rests his elbows on his knees and studies Cas for a moment while the computer whirs to life.

“So, first things first, I guess. We need to sort out your living situation. I assume you got a signed rental agreement with Nick?”

Cas nods absently and then shakes himself. “Yes, an open-ended lease. I have to give him thirty days notice before terminating the contract, or else forfeit my deposit.”

Gabriel nods and turns back to the computer, but continues talking while he types. “So if you give him notice you’re terminating today, since it’s already November, you either still owe him next month’s rent, or you can walk on your deposit?”

“I believe so, yes,” Cas says.

“Too bad Nick didn’t screw you over two weeks ago. Coulda saved you a month’s rent,” Gabriel grumbles.

“The money’s not important. It’s already been paid, and I don’t have any other expenses due.”

Gabriel nods, but keeps clicking away at the computer for a few more minutes. When he’s finished, he turns to Cas and holds out his hand.

“I’m gonna need the key,” Gabriel says. When Cas just stares at him, Gabriel sighs and explains. “I already called a buddy of mine who owns a moving company. Well, _ buddy _ might be too strong a word. I swapped out his old defective hip for a shiny new one last year, and he seems to think he owes me a favor in return. So I asked him if he’d ever be willing to drop everything and move someone for me on an emergency basis, and he’s game.”

Cas blinks. “You really have been preparing for this eventuality, haven’t you?”

Gabriel grimaces. “Unfortunately. Never thought it’d be _ you _I’d have to jump in and save. I’m kinda glad it is, though. This could’ve been way worse.” Gabriel shudders. “It could’ve been Vince.”

Cas shakes his head, but Gabriel’s already off and running again. He prints out a document and slides it across the desk to Cas.

“I called Shorty this afternoon and asked what his schedule looked like tomorrow. If you give me a list of everything that belongs to you, I’ll head over there and supervise the clean out. And I’ll leave this and the key when we’re done.”

Cas looks down at the paper. It’s a letter, ostensibly from him to Nick, informing him that he’s found alternate lodging, and per the terms of their contract, he’s severing their original lease, effective immediately. At the bottom of the letter, below the blank space awaiting Castiel’s signature, is a notation stating that a copy of the letter will be sent to Pamela Barnes, Esquire.

“Who is Pamela Barnes?” Cas asks.

“Lawyer,” Gabriel replies, already at work on something else on his computer.

“Yes, I guessed that, but how is she involved in any of this?”

“She’s how we cover our asses. She’s scary good at her job. Just trust me on this.”

Cas takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I trust you, Gabriel. That’s why I’m sitting here in the first place.”

Gabriel looks over at him, gives him a little sad smile, and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, Cas. We’re gonna save your ass, and then we’re gonna take Nick the fuck down.”

“If you say so,” Cas replies.

They spend the next hour or so working out every detail from the most mundane day to day living arrangements to the intricacies of Gabriel’s plan to discredit Nick. Cas insists on signing a formal lease with Gabriel, and Gabriel decides to charge him half what Nick did as long as Cas agrees to spend the rest on a decent car for himself. Cas tries to object, saying he doesn’t need a car, but Gabriel glares at him until he relents and agrees to become a motorist by the end of the weekend.

“I’m not saying you gotta drive the thing to work every day, but you’re a grown-ass man who should have more of a life than just working and sleeping,” Gabriel argues. “Instead of spending an hour a day walking back and forth between the two, you could like… drive to a restaurant for dinner, or go see a movie, or take a day trip up to the mountains, or maybe sleep in a couple times a week and drive to work. It wouldn’t kill you to let yourself have a little bit of a life, you know.”

Cas sighs. “I walk past a dozen restaurants between here and the hospital, and I can watch movies on my laptop. Although driving up to the mountains sounds pleasant. So does sleeping in once in a while.”

“It’s settled, then. I’ll take you car shopping tomorrow night after work, and then we can find a nice spot up in the city for a celebratory dinner out,” Gabriel says, slapping a hand down on Castiel’s knee and pushing the laptop over in front of him. It’s open to a local car dealership’s website, with a glaringly red SUPER SALE banner and a scrolling slide show of available vehicles. “In case you wanna get a head start on picking out your new wheels.”

Cas glares at Gabriel, but scrolls through the dealer’s inventory. Gabriel makes interested noises at some of the sporty cars, but Cas couldn’t care less if his car can do 150 on the highway. Most of the roads he’d be driving on have speed limits under 40, anyway. He stops on a beautiful old car whose deep blue paint seems to sparkle in the sunlight.

“So you’re a fan of the classics, I see,” Gabriel says, standing up from his chair and patting Cas on the shoulder.

“It’s probably not the most practical car to own,” Cas says, sighing and scrolling past it.

“Sometimes practical is worse, Cas.” Gabriel replies. “I think I’m gonna turn in. I can drop you at the hospital in the morning for your shift, and then head over to meet Shorty, unless you’d rather walk and get the lay of the land.”

Cas thinks about that for a moment, shutting the laptop and standing up and stretching. “I think I’d like to walk, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Great,” Gabriel replies, holding out a small plastic unicorn dangling from a chain. He nods his head at it until Cas holds out his hand. “You’ll need to lock up the place when you leave.”

Gabriel drops the unicorn into his outstretched hand, which Cas discovers is attached to a house key.

“Welcome to your new home, buddy,” Gabriel says, and gives him a little wave before heading off to bed.

Cas looks down at the key and then closes his hand around it. This might possibly have been the absolute longest day of his life, and strangely enough, he feels pretty good about it. Maybe unicorns have magical powers, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday morning proceeds without incident. The toaster in Gabriel’s kitchen doesn’t explode on him, and he’s able to enjoy an excellent cup of coffee with his morning bagel. His walk to work is refreshingly shorter than he was used to, but fascinating in entirely new ways. He makes note of the grocery store that Gabriel had mentioned, as well as a book shop and another storefront with a window cluttered with strange and slightly macabre items labeled “oddities” that he decides could provide an interesting shopping experience at some point in the future.

Cas almost doesn’t even recognize Dean’s shop when he passes by. Of course it’s not open yet, but even the neon sign pales in the glare of early morning light. He stumbles to a stop and peers at the collection of artwork hanging in the window. From the few bits of Dean’s art he’d seen on Sam's skin, he realizes he seriously underestimated Dean’s talent. The pieces he has on display demonstrate a depth and breadth of skill that Sam’s tattoos had only begun to hint at. The images range from the more traditional to the truly inspired, splashes of color and life pour from their frames.

He has to force himself to continue walking before he makes himself late for work, only to be surprised again at the next doorway he passes. It’s labeled Pamela Barnes, Attorney At Law. He turns and looks back at Dean’s shop, and then Pamela’s, and shakes his head. Maybe someday he’ll piece together the significance of that coincidence. For now, though, he’s got more pressing matters to deal with, and hurries off to the hospital.

He runs through half a dozen patients in the ER without bumping into either Nick or Gabriel. Gabriel does text him photos of the movers’ progress at Nick’s, asking a few questions about whether several things in the room belong to him or if they need to stay behind. Everything seems to go smoothly, and Gabriel finally texts him just after noon to let him know the deed’s been done. He replies to the text with a thumbs up emoji and stuffs his phone in the pocket of his lab coat with a shaking hand.

It’s all done, and there’s no going back now. He’s officially burned a bridge with Nick, who is technically still his boss. Who he’s still gonna have to face every day at work. _ Today _ at work, most likely. Gabriel's plan had seemed like a perfectly reasonable course of action last night, but now he’s feeling a resurgence of all the doubts that Gabriel had managed to talk him through before. Maybe he just needs a break. A distraction. Maybe some lunch.

He heads to the cafeteria to pick up a sandwich, distracted by thoughts of the next phase of their plans. He doesn’t even notice when Nick slides up behind him while he’s staring blankly at the selection of chips in front of the cashier’s station. He really wishes he’d just grabbed his sandwich and run back to work. So much for taking a moment to have an existential crisis in front of the snack food rack.

“So, Castiel, I hear you didn’t make it home last night,” Nick says, leaning over his shoulder from behind and filling the words with uncomfortable innuendo. “That’s not like you at all. Were you blowing off a bit of steam?”

Cas stiffens, grabbing the first bag of chips his hand lands on and walking up to the cashier to pay. It’s one way to put a bit of distance between them, but unfortunately Nick just follows. He doesn’t really know what to say, hasn’t thought it through, but he knows he’s gonna have to face it by the end of the day anyway. Nick will find the note Gabriel left behind in a matter of hours, so there’s no point even trying to lie about it now.

“Actually I was looking into a new living situation. A friend offered me a deal that’s hard to pass up, and I ended up staying the night there as a sort of trial run. I’ve decided to take it, and arranged to move this morning. That should give you plenty of time to find a new tenant to take my old room before the first of December.”

Cas pastes on a smile as he glances up at Nick and swipes his hospital ID to pay for his lunch. He’s mildly gratified by the look of stunned confusion Nick wears, but he doesn’t stick around to invite further questions. There’s nothing wrong with hiding in the employee lounge to scarf down his food, and Nick wouldn’t be caught dead slumming it there-- not even to wring a few more answers out of Cas.

He strides back to the ER break room making a mental note to track down Hannah and Kevin as soon as he’s done eating to give them the heads up. He sends a quick text to both of them to come find him as soon as they’re free and begins rehearsing the speech he needs to give them. They don’t just need to know he’s moving out, but they both need to know why, as well, so they can be prepared to defend themselves against any retaliation Nick may have planned. They’re both clever, diligent physicians, and forewarned is forearmed.

While hunched over the small countertop, Cas discovers he’s not quite as doubtful about his plans as he’d thought. Maybe it’s just the full stomach, or the unexpected spiciness of his bag of jalapeno chips, or even relief at having officially informed Nick of his move. It might be due to the fact that Nick had been so casually willing to throw him under the bus like he’d so cavalierly-- or possibly maliciously-- done to so many others. Or maybe it’s the tiny plastic unicorn in his pocket, unwittingly leading him toward his own freedom. He smiles to himself and tosses his sandwich wrapper in the trash. Suddenly he’s really looking forward to his trip to the car dealership. Freedom does sound pretty good.

***

Dean wakes up to the familiar sound of his own alarm clock. It’s far better than waking up to the smoke detector, but he still grumbles his way out of bed and into the shower an hour earlier than usual and without the benefit of his morning coffee. His entire morning routine is gonna be fucked for the foreseeable future, and there’s no time like the present to start getting used to the disruption.

When he’s clean, slightly more awake and fully dressed, he shuffles out to the kitchen where Sam has blessedly made coffee. Dean practically growls as he fills a travel mug and turns to see Sam standing in the doorway looking far too chipper for eight in the morning. He takes a sip of his coffee and glares at Sam over the rim of the mug. Even if he doesn’t really mean it, and Sam knows he’s really happy to help him out despite being an absolute bear before his coffee, he still _ kinda _means it. It is still eight in the morning, after all.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Sam says, fidgeting impatiently.

Dean finishes sipping his coffee down enough to put the lid on the mug and waits for whatever it is Sam seems so reluctant to say. “We’re still plenty early for your class, so what’s got you all worked up?”

“I, uh,” Sam starts, and then shoves his good hand in his pocket so he’ll stop fidgeting with the straps of his sling. “I think I’d like to go look at cars this afternoon, if you’ve got some free time.”

Dean’s about to object that he’s booked solid until seven, and he’ll probably get a few walk ins on top of that, but Sam holds both hands up-- even the one in the sling-- to stop him.

“I know, Friday’s like your busiest night of the week, but I think I’m mostly okay to drive and I don’t want to screw with your entire schedule for the next few weeks. It’s not fair to you.”

“_Mostly _ okay to drive?” Dean asks, giving Sam the look that statement deserves. “Dude, you got a broken arm.”

“Yeah, and you drive with one hand all the time,” Sam replies. “Look, it’s a mild fracture, and I’m doing everything the doctor said. But there’s no way I can walk back and forth to campus, and to all my classes with this on,” he says, lifting his arm in the sling. “It’s a two minute drive, and I can keep most of my books stashed in the trunk so I don’t have to lug everything around with me all day. To be honest, I’m kinda dreading having to carry my backpack around with everything I need for all three of my classes today.”

Dean listens to Sam’s rationale, nodding slowly. It does sound sensible when he puts it all out there like that, but there’s still Sam’s well being to consider. Sam doesn’t give him a chance to voice an objection before pressing his advantage.

“Plus I’ve been meaning to get a car sooner or later. I’ve got enough in savings to either get something cheap or else put a decent downpayment on something nicer. And getting it now means I won’t have to fuck over your whole schedule for the next month or so. It’s not just mornings, you know? I’m gonna need a ride home, too, during your busiest time of day.”

Dean feels his face contorting into a sour frown at that reminder and he chugs down a few gulps of coffee to force it away. Coffee fixes so many things.

“So is that supposed to be some sort of incentive for me, here? Give up an hour of work tonight and save myself having to bail on work every afternoon for the next month?”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, if it helps you to think of it that way. I don’t even need an hour. I got a short list of a few cars, and you can just drop me off at the dealer. If you’re up to it and can take a few extra minutes, I wouldn’t mind you giving them the once over and getting your opinion, but I did some research last night.”

“I’m almost scared to ask what kinda cars you shortlisted,” Dean replies, picking up his keys and heading toward the door. “But yeah, I’ll make sure I got a clear hour or two tonight.”

Dean drops Sam off with the promise to be waiting in the same spot five minutes after his last class ends. He has to rearrange his schedule a little bit, but a quick call to each of his clients and everything gets pushed back an hour. If car shopping takes any longer than that, Sam will just have to take the bus home. Or like, buy a car.

Jody and Donna are already in the shop by the time he gets back, and are surprised to see him in at his usual early time. He’s equally surprised to see them, and their adopted daughter Claire.

“Is this bring your daughter to work day?” Dean asks as he strolls through the shop and unlocks the front door. “Did I miss that memo?”

“Something like that,” Jody replies, glaring at Claire. “Someone informed us she dropped her classes and wants to earn a chance at apprenticeship here.”

“You quit school?” Dean asks Claire. “Why?”

“Because it’s a waste of time and money. I don’t need an art degree to make art. _ You _ don’t have an art degree, and you own your own shop.”

“No, but I put in my time learning how to run a business since I was a kid. Running a shop isn’t just about being able to draw. Plus I can’t let you work here unless you got a license from the county...”

Claire glares at him and pulls out the certificate. “You mean like this?”

Dean narrows his eyes at her and snatches the paper from her hand. “You got this yesterday?”

She nods at him and avoids looking over at Jody rolling her eyes and Donna trying her damnedest to contain her smirk. “Went and took the bloodborne pathogens course and filed my paperwork and everything.”

Dean grunts, looking over the certificate and gulping down the last of his coffee. He sets the paper and his mug on the front counter and spreads his hands on the glass display cabinet to lean across and stare directly at Claire. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch. After a few more moments of Dean’s silence, she comes back with her best line of attack.

“Come on, old man, you had to get your start sometime, too, right?”

Dean raises an eyebrow at her, and Donna snorts, but manages to contain herself beyond that.

“You’ve seen my portfolio, Dean. You know I can draw. And I’ve been practicing on silicone with Donna’s old machine.”

Dean’s other eyebrow goes up and he turns to Donna for confirmation. Jody also turns a surprised look on her. Donna just shrugs.

“So I’ve been giving her a little helping hand. Better than her running out and practicing on her friends without a license.”

“But I _ am _ licensed now,” Claire says, slapping her hand on the certificate. “And I want to learn for real.”

Jody sighs and waves a hand at Dean, as if to say, _ it’s your shop, so it’s your decision._

Dean turns back to glare at Claire for another minute before straightening up and tugging off his jacket while issuing her a list of conditions.

“You’re responsible for cleaning the shop.”

Claire opens her mouth to object, but Dean raises his hand to stop her.

“We all gotta do it, Claire. Health codes, and all that. It’s not glamorous, but it’s still an important part of the job. We’ll all help you learn the ropes, but you gotta be willing to put in as much as all of us have.”

Claire deflates and nods her understanding, but Dean’s not done yet.

“You gotta take at least one college class per semester--”

“Hey, now, I thought this was about not needing some dumb college degree?” Claire objects.

“Yeah, it is, but you still gotta learn the basics of running a business here. Take accounting, take business management, take fucking art history if you want. But until you’re experienced enough to get hired in someone else’s shop, you gotta be an apprentice. And I say general education is part of the program. Take it or leave it.”

Claire grumbles, but picks at the corner of her freshly minted license and agrees.

“Great,” Dean replies, and then taps a finger on her license. “Stick that thing up on the wall with ours and you can run the front desk today.”

“The front desk? Are you kidding?”

“Not in the least,” Dean replies. “Gotta learn how to run this thing if you ever wanna get anything done around here at all,” he adds, patting the huge computer monitor sitting on the counter. “This ain’t just for show.”

He’s already blown his morning routine, so Dean spends the next hour running through the scheduling and billing software, the inventory, and everything else they use in the shop. Claire doesn’t appreciate the impromptu quizzes Dean tries to catch her on, but she manages to answer him every time. By the end of his little orientation session, Claire’s looking a little frazzled and desperate. Dean smirks at her when Donna comes over to give her a hug.

“You sure you still wanna work here?” Dean asks. “No second thoughts now that you know the reality of it all?”

“I’m sure,” Claire replies.

“Okay, then,” Dean says. “I’ll give you ten bucks an hour, and you can keep any tips you make. We’ll give it a month and look at how you’re doing, and renegotiate.”

“Ten bucks? That’s it?”

Dean shrugs, looking to Jody and Donna for support. They both assure him he’s being entirely reasonable. Claire is still unconvinced. Dean holds up a finger and begins counting off.

“You’re eighteen, untrained, and inexperienced. You’re probably mostly gonna be sitting here doodling in your sketchbook and observing us doing most of the work at first. Plus you live with your moms. It’s not like you gotta make rent.”

“Fine, whatever. I’m looking forward to our renegotiation, then.”

“Hey,” Dean tells her, his voice a lot softer now. “You know what I made as an apprentice? Nothing. I had to work a full time job to support Sammy and then head over to work at the shop for free. Trust me, kiddo. You’re getting a cushy deal here.”

“I worked for free, too, for the first year. Well, my first boss let me crash on her sofa for most of that time,” Jody adds, before Donna pipes in with, “They paid me minimum wage, out of some sort of misplaced sense of guilt, I think.”

“You can also take any walk ins this afternoon, as long as Jody or Donna explains that you’re an apprentice here, and walks both you and any customers through the whole process,” Dean adds.

“What about you?” Claire asks.

Dean shrugs. “I gotta take Sammy car shopping. Good talk.”

He pats her on the shoulder and pulls out the tall chair behind the counter for her to take a seat, and then strolls back to the break room to start preparing for his day. His whole schedule might be fucked up anyway for a while, but he feels pretty good about it. Sam’s gonna be fine, Claire’s gonna be fine, his shop’s gonna be fine. Then he sits down at his desk and pulls out his sketchbook, opens it up to the drawing of that pesky angel in a lab coat and stares at it until his first client shows up.

Dean’s finishing up with his last appointment when his phone buzzes in the pocket of his flannel shirt. He’d taken it off an hour earlier and draped it over the back of his chair, so he doesn’t notice it right away. The buzzing of the tattoo machine in his hand combined with his intense focus on his art drowns out everything else.

“Your chair is buzzing,” Claire informs him from her perch directly behind him, observing the finishing touches he adds to the bluebird on the back of a woman’s shoulder.

“Shit, what time is it?” Dean asks, having been so absorbed in his work he’d ceased to notice time passing at all.

“Five thirty,” Claire informs him.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. “I’m almost done. Sammy’s just gonna have to wait.”

It takes him ten more minutes, and three more missed texts and a call he lets go to voicemail before he’s finished bandaging the tattoo and running through all the aftercare instructions with his client. He lets Claire ring up the sale while he sends a hasty text to Sam letting him know he’s on the way now. On his way out the door, the woman he tattooed presses a small wad of cash into his hand with a grateful smile, and he shoves the money in his pocket and thanks her for her business. He has no idea how much she even tipped him, but he’s late and Sam is gonna be pissed.

He pulls up in front of the library, at almost the exact spot where Sam fell the day before, and finds him standing on the sidewalk talking with the same redhead from the coffee shop. Rowena. From the looks of things, Dean will need to commit her name to memory. The two of them are practically beaming at one another, and when Sam notices Dean waiting for him, he actually blushes bright red at having been caught out. Rowena reaches way, way up to pat Sam’s cheek, and gives him a flirty little finger wave as she turns on her heel and heads back into the library.

“I don’t even need the transcript of that conversation to know how it went,” Dean says as Sam climbs in the car and dumps his backpack into the back seat.

“She’s just relieved I didn’t do anything worse to myself,” Sam says. “I’m taking her out to dinner tomorrow night to thank her.”

Dean snorts and heads out in the direction of the car dealership. “Thank her for busting your arm?”

Sam huffs. “No, for everything after that. I was pretty out of it, and she could’ve just walked away. But she stayed and helped, bought me coffee, and called you when I would’ve rather just tried to walk home on my own.”

“She’s probably relieved you’re not that idiotic all the time.” Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes. “Wait, is _ that _ why you’re all hot to get your own wheels all of a sudden? So you don’t have to have your big brother chaperoning your date tomorrow?”

“What?” Sam asks, turning in his seat fast enough to make himself wince despite the sling protecting his injured arm. “No, Dean, we’re just meeting up at that Italian place a couple blocks from home. I was gonna walk it. But, uh, it did occur to me that dating in general would be kinda awkward if I showed up on my bike.”

Sam finally takes in Dean’s appearance, wearing just his black t-shirt, leaving all the tattoos on his arms exposed. It’s not that Dean isn’t proud of his artwork, just that he tends to wear long sleeves when he’s out and about in the world, doing what he calls _ grown up stuff_.

“Whoa, you really did run out of the shop in a hurry,” Sam says, pointing at Dean’s uncharacteristically naked arms.

Dean looks down at himself, and then quickly turns to glance into the back seat as if his flannel or his jacket would magically appear there. “Shit, I was gonna apologize for being late until I saw you schmoozing with Rowena there. Guess I could’ve taken thirty fucking seconds to pick up my shirt, eh? Or apologize for showing up too soon, maybe.”

He frowns at the road ahead of them and grips the wheel tighter. At least he’s not the one buying the car today. It doesn’t matter what the finance jackass at the dealership thinks of him. He’s just there for moral support. It’s Sam that needs to look like a responsible, upstanding citizen to qualify for the car loan.

***

Cas endures a pretty routine afternoon in the ER. An emergency appendectomy keeps him after his agreed upon meeting time with Gabriel, but he finds the man once again loitering in the staff lounge with a cup of hot chocolate when he’s finally done for the day.

“I was just about to text you,” Cas says as he shrugs out of his lab coat and pulls on his trench. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Cas starts, but Gabriel cuts him off with a laugh.

“A ruptured appendix waits for no man,” Gabriel says. “It’s all good. Mildred filled me in. And speaking of being filled in, I’m kinda in the mood for donuts.”

Cas winces at the thought of eating custard-filled anything for at least another hour or two, and Gabriel laughs again.

“I also talked to Hannah and Kevin, and they’re both gonna report back on any developments over at Casa del Diablo. I kinda hope he develops an eye twitch when he reads your letter.” Gabriel sighs wistfully and tosses his cocoa cup. “To be a fly on the wall in his kitchen tonight.”

“Well, I ran into him-- or I suppose he ran into me-- in the cafeteria this afternoon, and I told him I’d be moving out today. I wasn’t watching him for his reaction, though. His eye may have twitched.”

Gabriel seems surprised by this information, but takes it in stride as he throws an arm over Cas’s shoulder and leads him out through the hospital to his car. “Shame his head didn’t just explode and save us any more trouble.”

Cas frowns at that. “That would’ve been highly unsanitary, and would’ve unnecessarily traumatized Gloria the cashier.”

Gabriel just laughs again and keeps them walking. Cas complains half the way to the dealership that he wanted to go home and change out of his scrubs before parading around the car lot, but Gabriel gives him a pitying look.

“Shorty didn’t unpack all your shit and hang it all up neat and organized for you, you know,” Gabriel says. The harsh sentiment is softened by Gabriel’s accompanying look of doe-eyed sympathy. “Most of your stuff’s crammed in boxes and stacked up in my office. It’s all marked, but, uh… it’s probably gonna take you most of the weekend to sort through it all.”

“Ugh, I hate moving,” Cas replies, letting his head drop back against the seat.

Gabriel reaches over and taps Cas’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with the actual moving part, right? That’s something, anyway.”

Cas’s stomach chooses that moment to growl. “I think I’m even willing to take you up on the offer of donuts at this point.”

“Yeah, removing extraneous organs really takes it out of you, huh?” Gabriel says with a grin, but keeps his eyes on the road. “I was gonna save dinner for after, but they say you should never go shopping on an empty stomach.”

He pulls into the next burger joint they pass and gets in the drive through lane. Cas un-hunches himself and perks up at the faint smell of fast food grease.

“I believe that only applies to grocery shopping, but since we’re already here, I’ll have a double bacon cheeseburger and a large fries. And a chocolate milkshake.”

Gabriel gives him an approving nod and places their order. They gulp down their food, and with full bellies they finally make it to the dealership just after six. Cas is relieved to be able to stand up and walk off the huge meal, but Gabriel’s more interested in stopping to give every car on the lot his full attention.

“That’s not even remotely in my price range,” Cas says, dragging him away from a sleek black Porsche and toward the mid-range sedans.

“You’re gonna pick out a boring car that looks like every other boring car on the road, aren’t you,” Gabriel asks with a disappointed frown. “What happened to that cherry Mustang you were looking at last night?”

“You mean the blue car?” Cas asks, craning his neck around to look for the car. It definitely stands out among the sea of run of the mill cars, and he quickly spots it a few rows over. Someone’s bent over it, hands cupped to the window trying to get a better look inside. “It looks like it’s already got another admirer.”

“Well, you saw it first,” Gabriel insists, pushing Cas in that direction.

As they approach, Cas first notices the swirls of color covering the man’s left arm. At first he thinks it must be a long-sleeved t-shirt, until the man moves. He straightens up and drops his hands, and then Cas realizes exactly who it is.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean calls out to his brother. “You gotta check out this beauty.”

“Dean, I’m here for something practical,” Sam says from the next aisle over. “I don’t wanna live for my car like you do.”

“I do not live for my car,” Dean replies as Sam rolls his eyes. “I just appreciate her, is all.”

Cas remembers Dean’s car, the beautiful black Impala. He understands Dean’s appreciation. Dean still hasn’t noticed him, though, and he wonders if maybe he and Gabriel shouldn’t just leave and come back another day. He’s not exactly ready to confront both Dean and the stress inducing experience of shopping for a car all at the same moment, but he has no idea how to explain to Gabriel why he’s suddenly lost his power of coherency. And then he realizes he wants nothing more than an excuse to get a closer look at Dean’s tattoos. If they happen to be conveniently on display beside the exact car he’s most interested in checking out, then logically he should be hurrying over as fast as his feet can carry him. Instead, he stands there frozen, as if his shoes have been bolted to the ground. It surely wouldn’t hurt to compose himself for a moment first, he thinks. He tries to convince himself that it’s the wise and reasonable decision while his heart pounds in his chest and his palms go all clammy.

He’s already devoted a significant amount of study-- both in person and in idle moments of distraction attempting to mentally reconstruct the entirety of their first meeting-- to Dean’s face, his eyes, his hands, and just Dean in general, but he’s finally got the opportunity to satisfy some of his curiosity about the tattoos an artist of Dean’s caliber would decorate his own skin with. From the small glimpse he’s already gotten from twenty yards away, all Cas can tell is that it’s an intricate design of reds and yellows and black.

“Yo, Cassie, did your feet stop working? Step in some glue there?” Gabriel asks, turning to stare at Cas who he’s apparently abandoned at least three steps back.

Dean’s still giving the beautiful car a slightly forlorn once-over, so it’s actually Sam who sees them first. He looks up from his inspection of the car behind Cas.

“Hey, Dr. Novak?”

Cas turns around, tearing his eyes from Dean, and blinks at Sam. “Yes, hello. Sam, right? How’s your arm feeling today?” There, that was at least a normal thing to say.

“Pretty good, actually,” Sam says with a smile. “It was a little difficult finding a comfortable position to sleep in last night, but I eventually got it worked out.”

Cas nods as Gabriel strolls over to his side and examines Sam. Cas takes a look at Gabriel and introduces them to one another.

“Sam, this is Dr. Milton. He’s tricked me into agreeing to buy a car. Gabriel, this is Sam. He was my last patient last night.”

Gabriel makes a little noise of understanding and holds out his hand for Sam to shake. “Well, it looks like Castiel here took good care of you.”

“Yeah, he did,” Sam says, when he spots Dean wandering their way. “You remember my brother, Dean?”

Dean nods at Cas. To Cas’s dismay, Dean keeps his hands clasped behind his back, and it’s impossible for him to get a better look at his tattoos.

“So,” Dean says, clearing his throat and giving Gabriel and awkward once over before giving Cas a hesitant, customer service sort of smile. “Apparently it’s a nice day for car shopping, eh?”

Cas does his best to return the smile, and hopes it doesn’t look as uncomfortably plastic as it feels. His heart’s pounding in his throat and this is all proving to be too much. He fondles Dean’s card in his pocket, and hopes like hell he’s not blushing.

“Dean, it’s good to see you again. And it’s only a good day for car shopping when you’ve been issued ultimatums by your landlord,” he says, glaring at Gabriel.

Gabriel holds up his hands in surrender. “Hey, buddy, I gave you a deal on the rent so you could afford to be a big boy with his own transportation. Consider it a housewarming gift.”

“You two live together?” Dean asks carefully, glancing back and forth between them.

“It’s a long story,” Cas replies, watching a curious sense of relief wash Dean’s features clear, while at the same time Gabriel says, “Yeah, since he needed to get out of Dr. Satan’s house ASAP.”

Both Dean and Sam’s eyes go wide at that, and they both stare at Gabriel as he stands there grinning like he’s just itching to tell the story. Cas continues glaring at him, until Gabriel finally rolls his eyes at all of them.

“Come on, Cas, the guy’s trying to shoot your career in the face and toss it in a shallow grave in the woods.” Gabriel leans in closer to Sam and Dean and says more quietly, “His boss has been driving a couple of residents a year to self-destruct for as long as anyone can remember, but Cassie here’s the first one who didn’t crack under the pressure. So my lawyer and I are helping him out. And if we’re lucky, we can get that sadist’s license revoked before he can toss another resident under the bus for his own sick sense of entertainment.”

“Wait, you’re Dr. Gabriel Milton?”

“So they keep telling me,” Gabriel replies.

Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement and nods happily. “I work for Pamela Barnes.”

“Well, well, well,” Gabriel says, countering Cas’s glare with a knowing smile. “Looks like your gigantic patient here’s already on Team Kick The Devil.”

Dean clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sammy, not that this isn’t a nice little reunion here, but I got a client in half an hour. I’m gonna go ask the sales guy for the keys to the Mustang unless you’re actually considering buying one of those old lady cars.”

“Oh, right,” Sam says, looking around like he’d forgotten what they were there for. “And yeah, I think I’m gonna test drive the Honda, actually.”

Dean sighs as if this information pains him, but he leans in closer to Cas and hooks his thumb over his shoulder at the car. “Since my brother’s too stupid to buy it, you should really check out the blue Mustang over there.”

Cas knows exactly which car he means, of course, but at that moment he only has eyes for the fantastic fiery swirls of color wrapping around Dean’s left arm. He tilts his head to get a better look, unconsciously leaning in closer and tracing the designs with his eyes. Dean notices where his attention has fallen, and flinches self-consciously as if he’s about to hide his arm behind his back again before slowly holding out his arm for Cas to get a better look.

“Heh, yeah, we were talking tattoos yesterday, weren’t we,” Dean says softly, rubbing at the back of his neck with his other hand, but it’s not a question.

“Sam, is it? Why don’t you show me this old lady car you’re looking at while these two… do whatever it is they’re doing,” Gabriel says, and the two of them quietly walk down the row of cars giving them some space.

The last thing Cas hears as they walk away is Gabriel questioning whether Sam can even drive with one arm effectively out of commission. It’s actually a point Cas feels he should’ve raised with his patient himself, but he trusts Gabriel to at least give Sam sound medical advice. He turns his attention back to Dean, only to find the man looking nervously back at him. Cas knows exactly how he feels. He clears his throat.

“I had initially intended to call you this evening, but the last twenty four hours have been unexpectedly trying,” Cas says.

“Sounds like,” Dean replies.

“Since this time yesterday, I’ve learned that my boss intended to blame me for a man’s death in surgery, and discovered that he’s systematically destroyed the lives and careers of several other doctors over the last few years in this exact way. Unfortunately since he was also my landlord, Gabriel thought it best if I didn’t live under his roof any longer. So I’ve also apparently moved house, also courtesy of Gabriel since I had to be at the hospital all day. I’m afraid I’m going to be stuck unpacking boxes for the foreseeable future.”

“Wow, that really sucks, Cas,” Dean says, his frown growing into a hint of a smile. “But if you got Pamela on your side, you’re gonna be fine. She’s fucking terrifying.”

“I’m not sure anything scares Dr. Morningstar, but that’s essentially what Gabriel said, as well. I find it strangely reassuring.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I’ve known Pamela since I moved out here when Sam started at Stanford, at least six or seven years ago now. My shop’s literally next door to her office. She’s real good people.”

Cas lets out a relieved little laugh. “I only moved to town when I began my residency. For the past three years I haven’t seen much aside from what lay between Nick’s house and the hospital. That’s partly why Gabriel’s insisting I should own a car. He thinks I need to get out more.”

Dean chuckles at that. “Yeah, Sam says the same about me. We actually live above the shop. It’s a sweet setup, easiest commute ever. I’ve kinda become a hermit, though, working six or seven days a week just because it’s convenient.” Dean blushes slightly and looks down at the ground, and then takes a deep breath and looks back up at Cas. “So, you moved too far away to walk to work now?”

Cas laughs. “Actually, no. Gabriel’s house is technically closer. Just in the opposite direction to Nick’s, which is frankly what I need right now. It’s, uh, actually just a few blocks from your shop. I walked past it this morning on my way to the hospital. You weren’t open yet, of course, but I did enjoy admiring your window display.”

Dean’s blush deepens and he self-consciously rubs his exposed arm. “Huh, so what did you think?”

Cas studies him for a moment and then smiles, glancing down at Dean’s tattoos again. “I was incredibly impressed. Even more so than I was yesterday. I have to confess, there is a tattoo I’ve wanted for years.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, brightening with curiosity.

Cas nods. “Wings. Across my back and arms. It seems like a complicated endeavor, and I’ve been putting it off almost as long as I’ve been considering having it done.”

Dean sucks in a deep, startled breath, as if Cas’s revelation means something more to him than Cas can understand. He blinks at Dean as the man opens and closes his mouth a few times. He’s about to say something else when Dean’s phone blares a Led Zeppelin song from his pocket.

“Shit, I gotta get back to work. Client’s gonna be there in ten.” Dean frowns and shuts off the alarm. He looks up at Cas and frowns. “I really wanna hear about this tattoo, though. Call me when you get settled in at your new place? Or just text whenever you get sick of the whole settling in process.”

Cas nods, blown away by the absolute sincerity blazing across Dean’s face. He’s just as curious to know why Dean reacted so strongly to his desire for wing tattoos as Dean seems to be to continue their conversation. It gives him a strange little thrill to be part of this, to share some secret hidden connection to Dean, and he can’t help what he says next.

“I will do that. Or maybe I’ll walk over to your shop when I can’t stand the thought of unpacking another box.”

Dean grins at him. “Well, I’ll be in the shop until at least eight tomorrow night, but if we’re closed, just come around and ring the bell by the back door. I’m almost always home.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely.

“Any time,” Dean replies, sending a quick text and then shoving his phone back in his pocket. “And seriously, buy the Mustang.”

“I think I might do that,” Cas replies, waving as Dean turns and jogs off toward his car.

Gabriel wanders back over as he watches Dean pull out of the lot and speed back toward his shop. Cas doesn’t even notice him until he speaks.

“Sam got a text, said his brother was taking off. I figured you’d need some company again after that encounter. Or maybe a fire extinguisher.”

Cas rolls his eyes and snorts at Gabriel, and then walks toward the sales office. “Then make yourself useful. I’m gonna buy that Mustang.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean half expects a call from Sam at some point over the next few hours asking for a ride home. He’d left him the out via text, _call if you don’t end up buying the granny car._ But Sam comes strolling through the shop five minutes before they’re due to close with a box from the bakery near campus. Dean hardly even cares what’s inside, and his mouth is already watering when Sam sets the box down in front of him with a grin.

“You’re looking at the proud new owner of a four year old Honda Civic. I brought cupcakes to celebrate.”

Dean gives him the look of abject disappointment that whole entire statement deserves, but opens the box and plucks out a salted caramel cupcake anyway.

“So what is it, old lady beige? Generic industrial white?” Dean asks through a mouthful of cupcake.

“Red, actually,” Sam replies, as Jody, Donna, and Claire meander over and select cupcakes.

“Good for you, Sam,” Jody says. “You know you’re gonna have to take us all for a test drive now.”

Sam grins at that and tosses her the keys. “Go for it. It’s right out back.”

“What, you’re not gonna give us the fifty cent tour?” Donna asks.

Sam shrugs. “You guys know your way around a car. Take it for a spin if you really want to.”

“Yes,” Claire says, snagging the keys from Jody’s hand and shaking them above her head as she leads Donna and Jody to the back door. “Congrats on the moderately cool wheels, Sam.”

Dean snorts at that and considers picking up another cupcake, but he still hasn’t had a proper dinner yet. He decides he doesn’t care and selects a chocolate cherry one because at least it’s got a visible piece of fruit on it and therefore qualifies as proper food. After a few moments of silence while Sam stands by the counter fidgeting with his sling, Dean finally looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting to hear whatever it is Sam needs to say.

“I guess I’m sorry about the whole cockblock thing I tried to pull at the hospital last night. Cas seems like a really nice guy.”

Dean nods, and then shrugs, smirking up at his brother. “Yeah, well, I don’t exactly got a great track record. But did you really think I’d purposely try and distract the doctor who was supposed to be taking care of you in an emergency? Just to see if I could?”

Sam shrugs, but looks contrite, finally choosing a cupcake for himself. Lemon, if Dean’s not mistaken. “Sometimes I don’t think you can help yourself. Flirting’s your default state, especially when you’re stressed.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, fidgeting with the kneaded eraser he keeps on the front counter. The thing spends more time as a stress toy than actually erasing stuff. “Yeah, well, some people panic when they’re freaked out. I guess I flirt.”

Sam laughs at that, grinning at his brother. “Yeah, man, I know. I just figured it was easier to joke about it than to let you make a fool of yourself with the doctor.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, I can appreciate the effort.”

“But,” Sam says loudly cutting Dean off. “I think you really like him, so you have my stamp of approval. Flirt away.” Sam holds up a finger before Dean can object. “Under the condition that I’m not directly subjected to any of your weird mating rituals. Got it?”

Dean feels all warm and tingly inside. They didn’t actually say much, but for them, it’s effectively a whole chapter out of a romance novel. _ Getting the family’s approval_. It kinda makes him wonder.

“Did he buy the Mustang?”

Sam shakes his head. “Of course that’s all you wanna know. I hung out with the guy for an hour drinking stale coffee and making small talk while we were waiting for them to process out all our paperwork, and that’s what you ask about.”

This is news to Dean. Sam’s now officially spent more time chatting up the guy he’s interested in than he has. Hell, he doesn’t even have Cas’s phone number yet. And depending on what he and Sam talked about, maybe he never would. Then again, he did earn Sam’s approval, so he can’t imagine Sam had done anything to permanently frighten the guy off.

“Well, did he?” is all Dean can think to ask, even with this potential well of new information to draw from. Somehow, he'd much rather discover all of that stuff for himself.

“Yeah, he did,” Sam says with a heavy sigh, picking up his backpack and heading toward the stairs. “I gotta get some studying in. Just leave my car keys on the coffee table and I’ll find them in the morning.”

“Sure thing, Sammy,” Dean says, glancing up at the clock.

It’s past closing time, so he hauls himself out of his chair and locks the front door, flipping the sign around announcing the shop is officially closed. He shuts off the lights and wanders out through the back door, sitting down on the step and waiting for Jody, Donna, and Claire to return with Sam’s little car. He only waits a few minutes before Jody comes zooming into the lot and slides into the parking spot beside the Impala. Dean hates to admit it, but Sam’s car isn’t terrible.

The three women get out, laughing at something Donna said when they finally spot Dean sitting there staring at his phone.

“Waiting on a call, old man?” Claire asks.

Dean snorts. “Sam already went to bed, and you’re calling _ me _ old? Kiddo, I got news for you. Twenty-eight ain’t old.”

“He’s right about that,” Donna says.

“We’ll see how old you feel tomorrow morning when you’re coming back into work with us instead of watching Saturday morning cartoons,” Jody adds.

“At least I won’t have to put up with Alex telling me to turn the tv down so she can study,” Claire replies.

“Yeah, well, Sam’ll be studying, but he’s used to doing that above a tattoo parlor. Noise ain’t an issue. But you won’t be watching tv, either.”

Jody locks the car door and then drops the keys into Dean’s outstretched hand. “Tell Sam he picked a great little car, there,” she says with a smile before the three of them head to Donna’s big truck. “See ya tomorrow.”

Dean waves as they drive off, but he sits there for another few minutes enjoying the cooling night air. Another glance down at his phone brings a fresh wave of disappointment. He knows he’s being ridiculous expecting Cas to text him, but he can’t help but feel an additional weight of nervous energy over it now that Sam’s spent some time talking to the guy. _ He bought the car you suggested to him, you idiot, that’s gotta count for something, right? _

It had freaked Dean out, running into him the way he had. When he’d first noticed Cas at the lot, it had knocked the breath out of his chest. When he’d noticed Gabriel standing beside him, Dean had gone through a roller coaster of self-doubt and embarrassment, wondering if he’d seriously misinterpreted their flirting from the previous day, before being swooped up by the next hill when it became clear that Gabriel was just a good friend. A good friend who’d clearly picked up on the intense connection between them that Dean was still attempting to puzzle out, and had been astute enough to swap car shopping buddies with him to give them some space to figure themselves out. Dean’s pretty sure he’s eventually gonna owe Gabriel a fruit basket or something. _ If Cas ever calls, anyway._

Dean scolds himself for even letting his thoughts wander down that dark alley. Cas has clearly got way too much on his plate between his work issues and moving. There’s still no denying how fascinated the man is by tattoos, and Dean’s pretty sure Cas was being honest with him about his interest if the way he was staring at Dean’s arm is anything to go by. Which brings Dean back around to the one thing he can actually do. He begins mentally sketching out a few wing designs that might make a good backpiece. It goes fairly well until he attempts to imagine the wings on Cas.

Dean brings up the few concrete memories he has of the man. Only this time, he finally realizes that Cas wasn’t wearing his lab coat at the car lot, but an old, well-worn tan trenchcoat. It suddenly clicks, and Dean knows what his own angel needs, the one watching over him on the highway through Heaven, silhouetted by the moon. He rubs at his right arm while the picture comes together.

He laughs at himself, wondering how he’s ever gonna explain this coincidence to Cas, but he just knows if he can sketch out Cas’s wings, he’ll also finally be able to get his angel’s wings right. It’s taken him more than a decade to finally feel like he might be ready to commit the design to ink. He blows out a breath, then pushes himself up off the back steps and heads inside. Cas is out there somewhere, maybe just a few blocks away. Probably not even remotely thinking about Dean.

***

Cas takes the Mustang for a test drive, and as he expected he would, he falls in love with it. It’s definitely not the practical car he’d resigned himself to buying at Gabriel’s insistence, but he can easily afford it with the deal he’s getting on his rent. He thinks about the mountain of boxes awaiting him at his new home and sighs. Whatever else is going on in his life, he figures he at least deserves one nice thing. Dean would be proud of him, he thinks to himself as he shuts the engine off and heads inside with the salesman to begin the boring chore of paperwork. He doesn’t even know why the opinion of someone he’s met twice should matter to him, or how he knows, but the thought of Dean smiling at him from the other side of the front seat as they rumble along the highway grounds him through the entire process.

His conversation with Sam Winchester goes a long way to making the evening run smoothly, as well. Gabriel stays with them for a few minutes, chatting with both of them about Sam’s injury and his current physical ability to drive. Once Sam promises to restrict his driving to the short daily commute to his classes until his shoulder is healed, Gabriel takes off, leaving him and Sam to entertain themselves while they both wait.

They talk about life in Palo Alto, their plans for after they each complete their respective training, and then Cas subtly begins to turn the conversation toward tattoos in general, and Dean in particular. Sam gives him a resigned but pleased look when he asks about the tattoo on Dean’s arm, but his reply is less than satisfying while also being perfectly reasonable.

“You should probably ask Dean about that yourself,” Sam says hesitantly.

And he’s right, Cas thinks to himself every time he has the impulse to send Dean a text message. He’s pulled out his phone and stared at the entry he’d made for Dean at least a dozen times already, and each time he convinces himself it would be best to wait. At least until after he’s bought the car, or once he’s driven home, or once he’s at least assessed the state of all his worldly belongings haphazardly stuffed into boxes. Surely he shouldn’t make his first contact with Dean when he won’t be able to focus on having a conversation, right? That would probably be rude.

He shoves his phone into the pocket of his coat and unlocks Gabriel’s front door. His front door now, too, he reminds himself. The key on its little unicorn keychain now has a pair of companions, and he gazes fondly at his new car in the driveway before going in the house and facing his doom.

Gabriel isn’t home yet, so Cas takes a moment to enjoy the peaceful solitude he hasn’t really felt in more than a decade. Between living in college dorms, crowded student housing, and then at Nick’s, only escaping to sit in lecture halls, libraries and hospital emergency rooms, the serenity of Gabe’s little cottage is exceptionally refreshing. At least, it feels that way until he spies the first of his boxes stacked up in the hallway near his room.

Cas sighs and follows the trail of cardboard, peering into Gabriel’s office to see six boxes labeled _ BOOKS _ in broad black marker stacked in one corner. His head tilts to the side as he realizes this might not be as bad as he’d been expecting. The two dozen boxes in the hallway sport various labels from the weirdly specific (_RUNNING SHOES_) to the unhelpfully vague (_PERSONAL ITEMS_).

“Everything in all of these boxes are _ personal items_,” he mutters to himself as he wanders into his room to assess the rest of the damage.

There’s a single box sitting on the bed, the only one marked in Gabriel’s distinctive handwriting, that’s labeled _SHIT YOU’RE GONNA NEED TO TAKE DOWN SATAN. FORTIFY! _ All the air rushes out of him at that little reminder. He’d let himself get wrapped up in the car shopping, in the moving, all set to a low level background hum of his interest in Dean, and almost forgot the reason he was here in Gabriel’s guest room in the first place.

He slumps down on the bed beside the box and kicks off his shoes. It takes a full minute for him to work up the nerve to lift the lid. If it’s a bunch of legal paperwork and documentation, he’s not sure he can make sense of it in his current state of mind anyway, but he’s got to at least try. Gabriel’s done so much for him already, it would be pointless to put off dealing with it. With a sigh of resignation, he opens the box, and he’s pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t recognize a single thing inside. Intrigued and rejuvenated by this unexpected discovery, he stands up and shrugs off his coat, tossing it on the bed before digging into the contents.

Each item in the box is labeled with a pink post-it note bearing an encouraging message. A little succulent plant with bright green fleshy leaves in a pot with tiny bees painted all around it is labeled _ this was an impulse buy but everyone needs something in their lives that’s easy to take care of_. He snorts a little laugh and sets it down on his nightstand before going through the rest of the contents, all with similarly cheering messages attached. A bag of gummy bears (_gnawing on chewy wildlife relieves stress! _ ), a pound of coffee (_you’re gonna need it and this is better than the hospital crap _ ), a box of tea (_for when you’ve had too much coffee already _ ), a bottle of what he believes is relatively pricey whiskey (_for when the coffee just ain’t cutting it _ ), a tourist guidebook of things to do in the greater San Francisco region (_you need to get out more _ ), a battered paperback copy of The Stand (_reminder that sometimes the good guys win _ ), and a DVD labeled Casa Erotica 13 (_for when not even the whiskey is gonna cut it _). He side-eyes the video as he tosses it back in the box. Of course Gabriel couldn’t let a perfectly kind gesture stand without making it at least a little weird.

Cas sighs as he slides the box into the closet and takes in the remaining stacks of boxes left to unpack. He decides he should make himself comfortable, settling in for a very long weekend of entirely reorganizing his life. After sorting out the box of toiletries he finds on the bathroom counter and taking a quick but meditative shower, he decides that if everything in his life is undergoing a renovation, then he’s gonna stop putting off doing the things he really wants to do just because it feels like there’s too much he _ needs _ to do instead. It’s probably Gabriel’s influence, pushing him to do things just for himself, but he can’t say he really minds it. He digs his phone out of his coat pocket, snaps a photo of the dozens of boxes stacked in the corner of the room, and starts a new message to Dean.

_ <<Hello Dean. _

He stares at the message for a full ten seconds after sending it before realizing Dean will have no idea who he is.

_ <<It’s Cas _.

When the little dots begin to flicker indicating Dean’s typing a reply, Cas feels the equivalent flickering in his stomach and wonders if he shouldn’t get himself a cup of soothing tea. He side-eyes the bottle of whiskey sitting on his dresser, but Dean’s reply comes through before he can act on that impulse.

_ >>Hey Cas. Sam told me you bought the Mustang. Congrats! You enjoy driving her home? _

Cas grins at that and replies.

_ <<I did. I regret I won’t have much time over the next few days to drive again. Moving is terrible. _

Dean replies immediately.

_ >>Ooh right. Boxes and unpacking. Hope they didn’t toss your life up too bad _

Cas replies with the photo he took of the boxes, and Dean replies with the grimacing face emoji.

_ >>If you need to get out of there for a while you know where I’ll be _

Cas considers his reply for a moment, sets his phone down on the bed, and pulls the first box from the pile, labeled _ SOCKS_. He’s still stuffing socks in his drawer when his phone chimes again with several new messages.

_ >>I might be drawing something you’d like to see _

_ >>hope that’s not weird _

_ >>I been working on something for myself for years and your wing tattoo gave me ideas _

_ >>hope that’s okay but I did a rough sketch _

It’s another few seconds before an image comes through, and Cas swallows hard when he sees it. It’s just a rough sketch, as Dean said, but his mind is already filling in all the details. Dean had sketched out the outline of a man’s back with his arms outstretched, showing the full extent of a set of wing tattoos spanning his entire back, the longest feathers extending down his arms nearly to his wrists.

_ It’s my back_, Cas thinks as he stares at the drawing._This is me_. He touches his finger to the screen, compelled to trace the lines of feathers Dean spent his evening pulling from the aether and enshrining in his sketchbook, but the moment he touches the screen the image slides away from him and he’s faced with the blinking cursor in the message box. No, he thinks to himself. This isn’t him yet, but it could be. Dean could make this him. _ Dean already made this for him_.

He doesn’t remember having sat down on the bed again, but he stays there for a minute or two compiling his thoughts into a coherent reply.

_ <<Dean, that’s beautiful. Though I feel like my phone screen can’t do it justice. _

Dean begins typing immediately.

_ >>the real thing can’t do it justice yet either _

_ >>It’s still just a sketch. Thought I’d show you and get ur input before I work it up to scale _

Cas considers that for a moment. Dean had joked about owing him a tattoo for taking care of his brother, but that was his job. He got paid for that hour he spent with Sam. What Dean is doing sounds like it will take hours and hours. It’s hardly a fair trade, and Cas decides that no matter what, he’ll find a way to pay Dean for his time. Before he can reply, Dean sends another message.

_ >>been working on a piece for my arm for like a decade and never could get it right but drawing those wings for you helped me figure it out. What do you think? _

Cas waits a moment more for the photo Dean sends to load and feels his mouth drop open at the drawing. Dean’s car, driving down a dark, tree-lined highway at night, lit by a moon that takes up half the sky, only partially obscured by the silhouette of a guardian angel with a set of wings eerily similar to the ones Dean had drawn for him.

_ <<Wow. It’s breathtaking _

_ >>It’s Heaven, or at least my version of it. Gotta balance out the hell, right? _

Cas thinks back to the fire and smoke adoring Dean’s left arm and he thinks he understands. He squeezes his eyes shut at the unknown events of Dean’s past that may have prompted him to decorate himself with the fires of perdition, and his heart breaks a little bit for reasons he can’t even explain. Sam had talked a little about their childhood, how they were raised by their single father until they weren’t anymore and Dean had taken over caring for Sam himself. Sam was definitely right, Cas thinks. He knows he’ll need to wait for Dean to tell him that story himself.

_ <<I really need to come see your art in person, but so far I’ve managed to unpack two boxes and I don’t even know where any of my pants are yet. _

_ >>LOL then you better get unpacking. At least you got your flasher coat if you gotta leave the house pantsless _

_ <<I have no intention of leaving until I’ve located more than running shoes, my toothbrush, and the houseplant Gabriel left as a welcoming gift. _

_ >>Well then I’m gonna get to work on this tattoo for you. At least if you can’t find a shirt you’ll be able to give the people something to stare at _

Cas can’t help the laugh that escapes him. It feels like the first time he’s really let go of the weight on his shoulders. Texting Dean had been the best decision he’s made all day. He laughs again when he realizes it’s the thought of tattooing those wings on his overburdened shoulders that’s lightened the rest of his burdens, like some sort of cosmic feather duster sweeping them to the side.

_ <<Well thank you for lifting my spirits. I needed a laugh today. But now I think I need to get back to lifting boxes. If I’m done by the end of the weekend, I’ll try to stop in and say hello. I’m looking forward to it, but I’d rather not have to rush. _

_ >>Yeah, take your time. You got a lot going on. I get it, and I’m not going anywhere. _

_ <<Thank you, Dean. _

_ >>night, Cas _

***

Dean sits back in his desk chair staring at his phone. Cas actually texted him. Maybe all his previous staring at it waiting for it to ring actually paid off. He giddily wonders if cell towers actually pick up psychic longing even without a phone number to connect it to. He saves Cas’s contact information and then scrolls back through their conversation to make sure he hadn’t said anything too idiotic. He rolls his eyes at his own awkward babbling a couple times, but Cas’s replies all seem genuinely positive.

The one thing Dean can hardly believe is that he’d actually sent Cas the photo of his heaven tattoo. He’s never even showed it to Sam, not in any of its hundreds of incarnations. Never even mentioned the idea of it to a single soul. Now he’s gone and shown it to a virtual stranger, a guy he’s met twice in the last two days. He’s not sure if he’s lost his mind or found his soul mate, but there’s something special about Cas. Dean can’t explain it, but he trusts the guy with this secret knowledge. He feels safe sharing it with Cas.

Now that he’s talked himself down from the giddiness that threatened to consume him, he sets his phone down and looks at the papers spread across his desk. His Heaven will have to wait a little bit longer. If Cas gets even a spare moment to text him in the next few days, he wants to have something better to show him than the rough outlines he sketched out in a feverish fifteen minutes. He pins the sketch to the corkboard above his desk for reference and pulls out a fresh sheet of paper. If Cas wants wings, Dean’s gonna give him the most gorgeous wings the world has ever seen.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Gabriel gets home around 10:30, Cas has made substantial progress toward unpacking. He’d been pleasantly surprised by the thoroughness of the labeling of all his belongings, and the thoughtfulness of the packing. Once he gets started, it’s a simple matter of stacking his still neatly folded things in drawers or else picking up things still on their hangers and transferring them to his new closet. He’s even moved the boxes of his books from Gabriel’s office into the back of the large walk-in closet. He doesn’t own nearly enough clothing to come close to filling it, and it seems logical to store the rest of his belongings where they’re out of Gabriel’s way. When Gabriel strolls in to find him flattening and folding up one of the last empty boxes, he gives an impressed whistle.

“Someone’s been busy,” Gabriel says, looking around the room, eyes lingering on the few boxes left to unpack.

Cas huffs out a laugh. “I believe I owe your friend Shorty some sort of thank you gift. He’s an excellent packer.”

“Well he was pretty impressed with how organized you were to start with. Said it made his job a breeze,” Gabriel replies. “You two have some weird neat freak mutual admiration thing going on.”

Cas shrugs and moves on to the next box, setting out the few trinkets and photos it contains on his dresser while Gabriel watches. He moves the bottle of whiskey Gabriel had given him aside. While his back is turned, he says in a quiet voice, “Thank you again, for everything you’re doing for me, Gabriel.”

“Hey, you’re doing me a huge favor, too, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

Cas nods and then turns back around to disassemble the empty box, smirking up at Gabriel. “I’m more than happy to battle the devil with you. I’m just not sure we’ve got enough proof to stop him.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Cassie,” Gabriel replies, pulling a red and white after dinner mint from his pocket and unwrapping it with a flourish before tossing it in his mouth. “I just came from a very interesting meeting with the chief of medicine and our illustrious Ms. Barnes. Billie’s suspected what Nick’s been doing for years, but without anyone sticking around long enough to file a formal complaint, her hands have been tied. She was mighty interested in hearing the details of what happened yesterday.”

“I assume she knows that I’m involved in this, too?” Cas asks, wondering if his career is already on the line. Billie has the power to make or break him, and he’s never sure exactly where he stands in her books. She can be more than a little intimidating.

Gabriel nods. “She’s gonna wanna talk with you directly over the weekend, before next week’s staff review of Mr. Adler’s death. His family may have been anonymously advised to push for an autopsy to determine cause of death, so we’re gonna have that on our side, too. Whatever Nick did to the guy, we’re gonna know for sure. Because the one thing we already know is it wasn’t you or me who screwed up.”

“I suppose the burden now is proving malicious intent on his part, or demonstrating the pattern of past behavior. Taking the blame for a single case of malpractice likely won’t be enough to end his career.”

“That’s what Billie said,” Gabriel says. “And that’s why Pamela had a stack of files ready to hand her documenting every doctor, nurse, orderly, and janitor Nick’s been responsible for gaslighting and running off the job. It might not be concrete proof, but it’s a start.”

Gabriel crunches up the last of his peppermint and his eyes go wide as he fumbles through his jacket pockets, pulling out an envelope and handing it to Cas.

“Almost forgot, staff parking permit for your new ride out there. Since I was up in admin today, I figured I’d pick one up for you.”

Cas peeks in the envelope, at the sticker for the windshield and the card printed with his personal access code that will allow him to park in the employee lot closest to the hospital. “You didn’t have to do that, Gabriel. I could’ve picked it up on Monday.”

“It’s done, so you can start driving to work like a grown up now.” Gabriel grins at him. “By the way, Billie’s gonna be joining us for lunch tomorrow. We thought it might be better for you to have your meeting with her off hospital property in case Nick’s hanging around. We’re still trying to keep this off the radar for now.”

Cas stiffens at this news. He thought he’d have the whole weekend to work through this before he’d have to lay out his defense. “Is this a formal interview, then?”

Gabriel nods at him seriously, all trace of his impish grin gone. “Technically, yeah. I’m gonna have Pamela here just in case, and someone from her staff will be here to record it all. You might wanna go over the surgical notes before they show up.”

“I guess I shouldn’t spend the rest of the night enjoying this bottle of whiskey, then,” Cas replies, drawing a laugh from Gabriel. The sound is a welcome relief, and Gabriel slaps a hand on his shoulder.

“Probably a good choice. I’m gonna make some popcorn and watch a bit of enthralling homemade surgical porn, if you wanna join me in the living room,” Gabriel says, waving a thumb drive that Cas assumes contains the video and records of Mr. Adler’s surgery. “And try the tea. The guy at the shop said it was good for sharpening mental acuity or something like that.”

It’s not exactly how Cas had planned on spending the rest of his evening, but he knows Gabriel is right. The two of them need to be on the same page if they have any hope of succeeding against Dr. Morningstar. He follows Gabriel out to the living room and prepares for a long night of study and making sure their stories are straight. He catches sight of his phone charging on his nightstand as he goes, and sighs. So much for finding some free time to talk with Dean any time in the near future.

***

Dean stays up far later than he probably should working on Cas’s wings, losing all track of time as the concept comes together. It’s not easy picturing the flat drawing transferring to the curves of Cas’s back, shoulders, and arms, mostly because he’s got no idea what Cas even looks like under the frumpy, ill-fitting coats he’s seen him in so far. Attempting to reconcile his drawing with his constantly evolving mental image of Cas’s physique proves a continual distraction, too. When his imagination begins to run away from him into territory that has less to do with tattooing and more to do with slowly peeling Cas out of his coat like some sort of early Christmas present to himself, Dean decides it’s best to take that image into his dreams and get some sleep.

Come Saturday morning, Dean’s tempted to hit the snooze button on his alarm clock for the first time in years. His sleep was restless, and his surreally vivid dreams try to follow him as he pushes himself through his morning routine. It doesn’t help once he has his coffee and sits down at his desk to draw that the first thing he’s confronted with is the source of and inspiration for all his wild dreams.

The massive set of wings looks fucking awesome, if you ask him. They’re not bird wings, even though they drew inspiration from Dean’s stack of reference books on bird anatomy. These are angel wings. The long primary feathers resemble a condor’s, stretching out around muscular forearms in Dean’s drawing, while the tops of the wings wrap over imaginary shoulders and the lower coverts curl around ribs he has yet to measure.

Dean finds himself just as frustrated as he was the previous night, knowing the design is good but having no canvas to fit it to yet. As technically detailed as he can make the drawing, it’s still impossible to guess what it might look like wrapped around Cas’s skin. From a distance the feathers look almost black, but up close it becomes obvious that there’s not a single drop of black ink in the entire design. Reds, blues, purples, greens, highlighted with streaks of bronze and gold, but absolutely nothing as boring as black.

The one thing he knows for sure, though, is that no one has wing tattoos quite like these. For one thing, they don’t entirely fit on a human form. He could’ve shortened the secondary feathers, or shrunk the wings to fit them entirely on a human back, but Dean’s already disgruntled enough with having to fit them to the span of a human’s arms. Somehow he just knows that if Cas really did have wings, they’d be more like the massive set on his angel against the moon. So rather than shrinking them or clipping them, Dean’s drawn them fading out of existence, as if they’ve only partially manifested on the mortal plane in a deceptive, nearly iridescent shock of color splashed across his back while the rest of the massive wings remain hidden just out of human sight, extending invisibly into the space around him. It sounds strange when he tries to rationalize it in words, but Dean thinks Cas might get it.

On an impulse, Dean picks up his phone and snaps a couple of pictures-- one of the entire drawing, and another close up of the tip of the left wing revealing the swirls of color-- and sends them both to Cas before he can talk himself out of it.

_ >>So I was busy last night. What do you think? _

He gets up from his desk and stuffs his phone in his pocket, not expecting to hear back from Cas any time soon. His first appointment is due in the shop in half an hour, though, so he heads to the kitchen for the rest of his coffee and then goes downstairs to get his day started.

Claire is less than impressed about being out of the house on a Saturday morning, but it’s the busiest day of the week in the shop, and she finally gets to tattoo her very first human being. Dean, Donna, and Jody each take turns walking her through it, and her client leaves happy with a simple line art tattoo of a cat on the back of her shoulder. She leaves a ten dollar tip, which Dean presents to Claire personally.

“You doubled your pay for a whole hour,” he tells her. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

She rolls her eyes at him and heads back to finish the inventory she’d been working on before Dean let her take the customer. Dean smiles at her back as she walks away, knowing the bewildering giddiness she’s probably feeling at that moment and equally proud of the work ethic she’s been showing. He’s still grinning like an idiot when Donna strips off her gloves and asks her client to give her just a minute before standing up and pulling Claire into a hug.

“Don’t you huff at me, Rainbow Brite. You did good.”

Claire desperately tries not to laugh at the nickname, but she hugs Donna back. Jody nods at her from across the room and then quietly goes back to working on her client. The general mood in the shop for the rest of the day just feels good.

“I got another victim for you, Claire, if you’re up for it,” Jody announces late that afternoon, much to Claire’s surprise.

The man at the counter slides a scrap of paper with a stylized monogram drawn on it across the glass toward Claire as she walks over to stand by Jody’s side.

“I’d like to get that right here,” the man says, rolling up his shirtsleeve and pointing to a section of skin above a tattoo of a skull and crossbones.

“Shoulders are easy,” Jody assures both the client and Claire. “And he already knows your whole apprentice rigamarole,” she adds, while the man nods at her with a smile.

“Well, then, if you’re willing to get my second tattoo, I’m down for it,” Claire replies, taking the paper and preparing to make the stencil. “I gotta ask. Who’s DP?”

The man grins at her. “Well, I’m Dave, and my fiance’s Paul. He went and got this tattooed on his shoulder last week and then asked me to marry him.”

Claire chokes on a laugh, shaking her head. “Well, that’s bold of him. I guess he felt pretty confident about your answer.”

Dean spends the rest of the afternoon busy enough that he’s shocked when his last customer leaves and Donna locks the door behind him. He glances up at the clock above the front counter and does a double take when it registers that it’s past nine already. He remembers Sam heading out to work a few hours at Pamela’s, but he doesn’t even remember seeing him come back home. As if learning the time broke the spell powering him through the day, he’s hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. He vaguely recalls eating dinner, and all he wants now is to crawl into bed and finally pass out in peace. He drags himself upstairs, only to find Sam typing away on his laptop at the kitchen table, still wearing his starched dress shirt Pamela must’ve had him wear to their meeting that afternoon.

“So, you’re back,” Dean says, stretching his arms up over his head until his spine pops and then shuffling to the fridge for a beer.

Sam stops typing and glances up at him with a huff before returning his eyes to his screen. “Yeah, got in like an hour ago.”

Dean leans against the counter, idly staring into the middle distance and sipping his drink. “Pamela not working you too hard, is she?”

Sam shrugs, and then remembers he still shouldn’t really be doing that when he winces at the twinge of pain. “I turned in my last paper yesterday, and we’re off next week for Thanksgiving, and the week after for reading week. Pamela’s helping me study for exams as much or more than I could do on my own.”

Dean snorts and takes another swig of beer. “You’re the only nerd I know whose after school job is basically homework.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Dean. It’s no different than you apprenticing with Mick was. You’re just a different kind of nerd. And at least Pamela pays me for it.”

“Touche,” Dean says, raising his bottle in Sam’s direction. “So what’s she got you working on this late on a Saturday night?”

Sam shifts in his seat but doesn’t look up at Dean. “I, uh, don’t know if I should even be talking about it with you.”

“Ooh, is this one of those _ I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you _ deals?” Dean says, pulling out a chair and spinning it around to straddle backward, resting his elbows on the back at a convenient height for tipping beer into his mouth with minimal effort.

Sam rolls his eyes, but at least finally looks in Dean’s direction. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. But, uh, it involves someone you know, so it’s not just an interesting story to tell, you know? At least, it’s not _ my _ interesting story to tell.”

Dean frowns at him for a second before remembering their brief conversation at the car dealership the day before. He raises one eyebrow and asks, “Oh, is this the thing you were talking with Cas’s buddy about?”

“Gabriel, yeah,” Sam says, nodding like he’s relieved Dean figured it out for himself. “And Cas, too.”

“Huh,” Dean finally says, pulling out his phone for maybe the twentieth time that day to see if Cas has replied to him yet. For the first time all day, he’s rewarded with half a dozen new messages. He decides to hoard them for when he’s finished talking to Sam, so he packs away his relief and his phone. “Guess that’s why he never got back to me this morning. Guy’s been busy.”

Sam lets out a startled laugh. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

“I take it things aren’t going well?” Dean asks, not wanting to pry into Cas’s business, but still feeling a strange twinge of concern for him.

“Oh no, they’re going really well. Probably _ too _ well, at least for me. I studied law because it got me out of taking organic chemistry, and now I’ve got all this medical shit to sort through, and I haven’t got the first idea what I’m looking at half the time. Google has been both my friend and my mortal enemy here.”

“Chemistry?” Dean asks. “What’s that got to do with Cas’s asshole boss who tried to get him fired?”

Sam clams up, his mouth shutting into a hard line. “I don’t think I can actually share that. Maybe you should talk to Cas about it.”

Dean finishes his beer and stands up, turning his chair back around and sliding it under the table. “I think I might do that. But you know, you could always ask your new little redheaded friend about the chemistry shit.”

Sam glares up at Dean. “You remember her major, and not her name?”

“Rowena, right?” Dean asks, and then frowns disapprovingly. “Weren’t the two of you supposed to have a date tonight? You didn’t ditch her for work, did you?”

Sam lowers his eyes and slumps down in his chair. “I didn’t ditch her. I called her this morning and we rescheduled for tomorrow.”

“Well, now you got something to chat about with her,” Dean says, patting Sam’s uninjured shoulder as he leaves the room. “She’s already proven to be an awesome knight in shining armor. Maybe she can save your ass again.”

***

“Welcome to Chez Milton,” Gabriel says that morning when he opens the door for Pamela. He does a double take and blinks up at her assistant, his eyes going wide. “Sam! Fancy meeting you here, huh? You managed to drive that new ride of yours home last night, I take it?”

Pamela raises an eyebrow and turns a curious look on Sam, who opens and closes his mouth a couple times before turning an apologetic grimace toward his boss. Rather than answer Gabriel’s question, he answers Pamela’s silent inquisition.

“I, uh, may have run into Gabriel shopping for cars last night, and you already know Cas is the doctor who treated me for this,” he adds, pointing at his injured shoulder.

Pamela snorts. “I know, grumpy. It’s like destiny keeps trying to bring us all together. Who am I to fight destiny?”

Sam follows Pamela into the house, and they both sit at the dining room table opposite to where Cas has been sitting, watching this entire exchange go down. Gabriel introduces Pamela and Cas, and he nods a nervous hello at Sam.

“This won’t be considered a conflict of interest, that Sam’s assisting you with my case?” Cas asks.

“Seeing as Sam isn’t the one who died on your operating table, I think we’ll be fine, ethically speaking,” Pamela assures him with a grin. “Plus, Sam is strictly here in an administrative capacity. I’ll be the one handling everything else.”

“Well, since Billie won’t be joining us for a couple hours yet, can I get you anything to tide you over until lunch?” Gabriel asks, and Cas rolls his eyes as he lists off the selection of pastries and beverages on offer.

When they’re all settled in with coffee and bear claws, they set down to business going through the technical details of the Adler case first. Sam records the session, but spends a significant portion of his time taking diligent notes on his laptop, as well. He also proves a valuable resource, asking questions that help Gabriel and Cas clarify their statements for those who didn’t attend medical school, and eventually helps them focus on the key elements of their case in the event of an actual malpractice suit the patient’s family might file.

After those details are sorted, they move on to the second half of their business-- the mountain of circumstantial evidence they’ll use to take Nick down once and for all. Pamela begins by going through the list of observations Gabriel had compiled case by case before moving on to Cas’s current situation. He feels uncomfortable answering some of the more personal questions about his time living under Dr. Morningstar’s roof, but Pamela assures him it’s necessary to uncover any potential weapons Nick might have tucked up his sleeve.

“So there were never any incidents in your years as his tenant that he might be able to use against you now?” she asks. “No deep, dark secrets he might dredge up in an attempt to smear your character? No hidden grudges that might’ve motivated him to target you as his next victim?”

Cas frowns and tries to think back over every conversation he’s ever had with the man, and draws a blank. Thankfully, Gabriel answers at least one of Pamela’s questions for him.

“We think he just legitimately fucked up on this one,” Gabriel says, glancing at Cas for confirmation. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him for a few years now. He usually spends a week or two singling out his victims, bullying and intimidating them, breaking their will before delivering the final blow that either gets them fired or pushes them to quit.”

Pamela turns her next question on Cas. “And he didn’t do any of that with you?”

Cas shrugs. “I wasn’t aware of any change in his behavior toward me leading up to this, no.”

Gabriel reaches over and taps Cas’s shoulder with the back of his hand before pointing toward Pamela. “Tell her about what he did in the cafeteria yesterday, though.” Cas opens his mouth to do just that, but Gabriel doesn’t stop talking long enough for him to say anything. “I was over at his house with my moving guys packing up Cas’s shit, so I only have Cas’s account to go by, but it sounds like he realized how bad he fucked up when Cas didn’t go home Thursday night.” Gabriel’s attention swings back to Cas. “He was either fishing for dirt on you, or else testing the waters for his usual brand of psychological torture. Damn, I wish I could’ve seen his face when you told him you were moving out.”

“Well, yes,” Cas says, his hands nervously clenching and unclenching in his lap, focusing on telling Pamela the facts and not letting Gabriel distract him. “He attempted to intimidate me, but I dismissed him as quickly as I could and went back to work. I’ve been successful at avoiding him since then, but I’m operating under the expectation that he’s only fallen back to regroup and plan a more direct assault.”

“Which is why I’m here,” Pamela says with a wolfish grin. “We’re gonna be more than ready if he tries anything funny.”

“We got paper covering the paper covering our assess,” Gabriel agrees with a cheerful smile.

Billie shows up about an hour later, followed closely by the man who delivers their lunch from some fancy place Cas has never even heard of because it’s on the other side of town. Gabriel teases him again about getting out more, and he retorts that it appears unnecessary when Gabriel has everything conveniently delivered right to the house anyway. It gets a laugh out of Sam.

“You sound just like my brother,” Sam says, and Cas can’t help but smile at that.

He knows that Dean had texted him that morning, but between sleeping late after their marathon study session the night before, and then in his rush to make himself presentable for a business meeting and not bothering to look at his phone until right before Sam and Pamela had arrived, he hasn’t even had a chance to look at Dean’s messages yet. Knowing their meeting would require his full attention, he’d even left his phone in his room, partly so he wouldn’t be tempted to start a covert conversation with Dean under the table and partly because he still feels wrong giving Dean anything less than his full attention-- especially after their conversation the previous night. Even Sam’s reminder of Dean’s existence is enough to send his thoughts down Dean-related tangents and distract him from the conversation long enough for the others to notice.

“So, Castiel, you seem to be settling in here nicely, despite the upheaval you’re going through,” Billie says, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Um, yes,” he says, hoping his face looks appropriately pleasant. “Gabriel’s been incredibly gracious.”

Billie’s expression doesn’t change, but something about the way she looks at him makes him feel safe. “Gabriel’s a regular boy scout, always prepared with an escape plan for any catastrophe.”

“Aw, shucks,” Gabriel says, playing coy. “You’ll make a girl blush with talk like that.”

It actually draws a hint of a smile from Billie, so Cas isn’t quite prepared for what she says next.

“I just want to assure you that your job is not in jeopardy here, Castiel. My staff is fully aware of the situation and they’re nothing if not discreet. Just like your former housemates, they’re keeping an eye out for any… unexpected incidences of bad faith on Dr. Morningstar’s behalf.”

“She means she’s got her own little network of spies watching your back,” Pamela says, giving Billie an impressed nod.

“Dr. Morningstar has made quite the name for himself over the years,” Billie says. “He’s always known how to manipulate any situation to his own advantage. He’s been indirectly involved in several malpractice cases, but he’s always managed to exonerate himself at another doctor’s expense. We’ve known about his little hobby for a while now, but we’ve never had any proof that he was behind it all. In fact, I’m pretty damn impressed at what the four of you have managed to uncover in just a matter of days.” She looks around the table at each of them, as if wondering what it might take to recruit them all to her unofficial spy network.

“Days, feh,” Gabriel says, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. “I’ve been taking notes on the guy since I overheard him get a nurse fired over a medication discrepancy a few years back. He practically accused her on the spot of shorting patient dosages to feed her own drug habit. I know for a fact she’d done no such thing, but Nick started messing with her after that, screwing with patient records and gaslighting her until she was barely functioning at work. She ended up quietly quitting rather than face another day of his torment.”

Billie frowns at that, but it’s Pamela who asks, “Do you think she’d be willing to come forward about it now?”

Gabriel shrugs. “I haven’t kept in touch with her, but I know she’s moved out to some small town in Arizona and taken a job at a retirement home. Couldn’t hurt to ask. She uprooted her entire life to get away from the guy, so no guarantees, but she might be willing to put her story down on paper if there’s a chance it will help take him down.”

“Revenge is a pretty powerful motivator,” Billie says. “Which is why I’ll warn you all one more time. Keep your eyes open, and watch your backs.”

With that unsettling bit of advice, the meeting comes to an unofficial end. Billie offers to review the surgical notes and critique Cas on his presentation for the Morbidity and Mortality panel. Sam volunteers to stay and take notes on that, as well, as much for his own edification as for their official records. By the time Sam and Billie finally leave, Cas slumps down into the plush sofa cushions, emotionally and physically drained. He perks up a bit when Gabriel waves a plate of reheated leftovers from their lunch under his nose and the two of them share a companionable silence while they eat.

“I think I’m gonna go to sleep,” Cas says, standing up and stretching before picking up his plate and carrying it to the kitchen. “I’ve worked twelve hour shifts in the ER that were less exhausting.”

“You did good, though,” Gabriel assures him, taking the plate from his hands and putting it in the sink. “You’re gonna slay them at the M&M.”

Cas can’t help but laugh at that. “I hope not. I’m trying to clear my name of a wrongful death, not commit a dozen more.”

“Yeah, well, you look dead on your feet. You got tomorrow to recover and make yourself presentable for Monday.”

“Which reminds me, I need to finish unpacking boxes. I haven’t found my lucky blue tie yet.”

Gabriel nods. “It’s in there. If I’d known it was your lucky tie, I’d have stuck it in the box with all your suits so you wouldn’t have had to dig for it.”

Cas snorts. “It’s probably in the box marked _ties_. I don’t think I’ll have a problem finding it.”

As he turns to leave the kitchen, Cas nearly walks into the wall, and Gabriel doubles over in laughter.

“Dude, you can’t even find the way out of the room. Go get some rest already. I need you on your toes. My ass is on the line here, too.”

“Your ass is safe with me,” Cas tells him with a smirk, striding away before Gabriel can decide on a comeback.

He brushes his teeth, changes into his pajamas, checks on his little cactus plant, and then climbs into bed to finally have some quality time with his missed text messages.

***

Dean debates between sitting down at his desk or just throwing in the towel and getting comfortable in bed. He gets a good look at himself in the mirror while he brushes his teeth and makes the executive decision that he needs sleep more than he needs to draw anything else tonight. Plus the idea of curling up under the blankets and giving his full attention to Cas’s messages sounds like just what the doctor ordered. It’s not like he has to be in the shop before noon the next morning anyway, and Sundays are usually slow. He’ll have plenty of time to catch up on all his projects.

Dean fluffs up his pillows, turns out the light, and psychs himself up to read Cas’s reaction to the detailed sketches he’d sent that morning.

_ >>Dean _

_ >>Sorry I was so blown away I accidentally hit send before actually saying anything _

_ >>It’s been a very long day, and this has _

_ >>what do they say. My fields are watered and my crops are flourishing _

_ >>you’ve left me speechless _

_ >>i’m both eager to see it in person, and curious to know how long it might take to tattoo such a thing on a person _

_ >>I have questions _

Dean reads it all over several times, catching his breath. He’d been afraid Cas wouldn’t like it, worrying throughout the day when he hadn’t responded yet. When he checks the timestamp on the first text and sees it’s from a little less than an hour ago, be breathes out a sigh of relief and hopes Cas is still up.

_ <<So you like it? I was worried you’d think it was too abstract or not feathery enough _

He only has to wait a few seconds for the little dots to start flickering. Less than a minute later, Cas’s reply comes through.

_ >>Yes, I love it! I’ve never seen anything like it, and I can’t imagine how you would translate your art to a human canvas _

Dean laughs to himself.

_ <<I’ve honestly been wondering the same _

_ >>So you’re saying it’s an ambitious project? Or more of an experiment? _

Oh no, Dean doesn’t want Cas to think he isn’t up to the challenge, or that he would ever consider using Cas’s body as an experiment. He’s got to crush that notion.

_ <<Nah, just that I haven’t even seen the human canvas yet. Like a tailor can’t make a custom suit for a dude he’s never measured. _

Dean wishes he could see Cas’s reactions, wishes they were having this conversation face to face. He doesn’t doubt Cas’s honesty, he just misses seeing the reactions in Cas’s eyes, watching his face shift with his thoughts. There’s no logical reason he should feel this strongly about a guy he’s known for two whole days, and spent a grand total of _ maybe _an hour with, but he’s not about to question it. At least, not yet. The little dots flicker, stop, then flicker again.

_ >>I take it that’s a subtle invitation to come to your shop to be measured… _

He’s relieved Cas is at least picking up on the fact he’s maybe flirting with him just a little bit, and even more relieved that he’s not telling Dean to stop.

_ <<Nothing subtle about it ;) _

_ <<Whenever you’re free, you’re welcome to come by. _

_ <<I know you’re busy. I figured out where Sam was all day. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble. _

_ >>It was nice to see Sam again. Pamela seems confident in our case. I’m just ready for it to be over. _

Dean frowns down at his phone. He really doesn’t know enough about what Cas is going through to be much use, but he says what he can.

_ <<You got Pamela on your side. You’ll be fine. She’s invincible. I should know since I tattooed all her warding sigils for her. _

_ >>Is that really a thing? _

_ <<What, protective magic? Pamela insists it is. I don’t argue with customers. Especially not Pamela :D _

_ >>:D After meeting her today I’d tend to agree with you. I’m very glad that she’s on my side. _

_ <<Yeah, same. How are you settling in? You watering your plant? _

_ >>It’s a succulent, Dean. It doesn’t need much water. It’s doing very well so far, but I’ve only had it for a day. I’m sure I’ll manage to kill it eventually. _

_ <<LOL ringing endorsement for a doctor _

_ >>I’m a trauma surgeon, not a botanist Dean _

Dean’s laughing so hard now he’s trying to keep from falling out of bed. He can’t believe how easy it is to talk to Cas, and wishes again that he were there in person.

_ >>I’m still getting used to living at Gabriel’s. I finished unpacking my things, at least. It’s quieter than I’m used to, but it’s honestly a relief. I didn’t realize how much I missed quiet. _

Dean settles back into his pillows knowing this could be a very long conversation, and hardly even remembers feeling tired.

***

They’ve been texting back and forth for hours, and it’s long after midnight before the pace of their back and forth begins to slow. Dean had shared the broad strokes of his history, how he ended up moving from Kansas and opening a tattoo parlor when Sam was accepted to Stanford. Cas had shared the relatively boring tale of growing up in a large family and escaping to college and the nonstop bustle of working in a hospital. Where Dean and Sam had grown up essentially on their own with the support of an unconventional extended family, Cas had always felt alone surrounded by relatives who preferred their children neither seen nor heard. Their lives had been so vastly different, and yet for all those differences, they seem to get each other on a level Cas has never experienced.

He’s known Dean for a matter of days, and yet feels as if he’s known him for years. He only wishes he wasn’t exhausted to his core, but after nodding off for the third time in as many minutes, he knows he needs to sleep.

_ <<Dean I think I’m falling all sleep on you _

_ <<*asleep _

_ <<autocorrect is sleepy too _

Dean must be nodding off as well, because it takes a minute or two for him to reply.

_ >>okay yeah me too _

_ >>night angel _

Cas just stares at that last message, wondering just how sleepy Dean must be. Did he really mean to call Cas _ angel _ ? Was it a mistake? Autocorrect is rarely _ that _ wrong, if he meant to type Cas instead. Is this just about the wing tattoos again, even though neither of them had mentioned them in hours? He isn’t exactly sure how to respond, at first. It doesn’t seem like the right time to open up a new dialogue when they’re both nodding off, and this definitely feels like the sort of conversation he’d prefer to have face to face.

There’s a fluttery feeling filling Cas’s stomach anyway. Even the potential for Dean to have used that sort of endearment intentionally flings open a wondrous and overwhelming realm of possibilities. They haven’t directly discussed whatever this relationship growing between them is, and despite dealing with people all day long, his interpersonal relationship skills are a bit rusty. Even if unintentional, Dean using such a familiar pet name for him makes him hope. He decides the simplest reply is probably the safest, at least for now.

_ <<Good night, Dean _

He only hopes Dean doesn’t regret it in the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean lets himself sleep until he wakes up Sunday morning. No alarm, and nothing else forcing him out of bed until he’s damn good and ready to get up. He had some pretty interesting dreams, too. It’s a bonus waking up thinking about Cas, about angel wings. It’s almost like Heaven.

He pulls on his robe, stuffs his phone in the pocket, and shuffles out to the kitchen to make coffee. The clock on the microwave tells him he’s still got two hours before he’s got to open the shop, and he closes his eyes and lets himself revel in the indulgently lazy morning he’s letting himself enjoy.

After a quick bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee, he drags himself to the shower and gets himself ready to start his day. It’s only then that he takes a minute to look through some of his long and rambling text conversation with Cas from the night before. They’d talked for hours, until they’d both fallen asleep, and all he can remember of the last few messages they’d exchanged was interwoven with his weird half-asleep half-dreaming thoughts as he drifted off. And then he sees the last message he sent. 

_ Night angel_.

He doesn’t even remember sending it, but he does remember the dream he’d been drifting into. Cas in his sack of a trenchcoat, climbing out of his new car out front of the shop, giving him a pleased smile before sprouting giant opalescent wings and taking to the skies.

Cas had already seen his message, and even replied. There’s no reason to panic, at least not yet, right? He can always brush it off, tell Cas he didn’t mean anything by it, if he asks about it. He was mostly asleep when he sent it anyway. That’s a fair excuse, in case Cas doesn’t appreciate the-- maybe subconsciously intentional-- endearment. At least Cas hadn’t laughed at him for it, but he’d been mostly asleep at the time, too.

Dean decides it’s not worth getting worked up about until he’s had a chance to thoroughly shove it down and worry it into the pit of his stomach for at least a few hours. He frowns at himself and shoves his phone in his pocket. Coffee always helps with the worrying. He probably just needs more coffee. When he gets back out to the kitchen for a refill, he stops cold in the doorway to find his second surprise of the morning.

“Well, hello there, Dean,” Rowena says, turning around from where she’s sitting beside Sam at the table. “Pleasure to see you again.”

Sam gives him a slightly guilty smile as a grin slowly breaks across Dean’s face.

“You remember Rowena,” Sam says, only a little bit flustered.

Dean nods, “Hey,” remembers his mission, and ambles across the kitchen to the coffee pot, which is now regrettably empty. He picks it up anyway, turning back toward Sam and mimes filling his cup.

“Uh, sorry,” Sam says. “Rowena and I finished your pot. I was gonna make more, but I wasn’t sure if you were working yet and figured you’d rather make it fresh yourself.”

“Considering I was all ready to drink the horrible stale coffee you stole out from under me, I wouldn’t have cared,” Dean says, filling the pot with water again. He glances back over his shoulder at Rowena. “Watch out for this one,” he warns her with a nod of his head in Sam’s direction. “Sometimes he’s got the manners of a dude raised in a barn.”

“Well,” Rowena replies, dragging it out with a lazy smile at Sam, “that would account for the stampede I nearly fell victim to.”

Dean snorts out a laugh at that while Sam squirms in his chair.

“Um, yeah, so,” Sam says, and then clears his throat. “So Rowena offered to help explain the sciencey parts of this case to me. Then we’re gonna head out for lunch. Sorry I didn’t let you know, but it sorta came up last minute.”

Dean starts the coffee maker and leans back against the counter to wait. “Yeah, you were only talking about it last night.”

“Samuel called me with a question last night, and I thought it best to look over the information myself rather than speculate on an incomplete set of facts,” Rowena replies, now smiling fondly at Sam. “I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve been thrown together by the fates.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something the fates would do,” Dean replies, making a vague shrugging motion at his brother. His coffee is ready, though so he grabs a cup and excuses himself back to his desk. “You kids have fun, now.”

He hears Sam and Rowena leave a little while later, finishes up the piece he’s working on for a client due in later that afternoon, and then heads downstairs to open up the shop. He doesn’t really have regular Sunday hours, but he usually tries to open up around noon anyway, even if he doesn’t make a fuss about it. Jody, Donna, and Claire have the day off, so it’s just him and the two clients he’s got on the schedule.

The first guy just needs a touch up of an older, fading tattoo, and is in and out of the shop in under an hour between the actual tattooing and just standing around shooting the shit for a while. Dean’s already put the finishing touches on the design of ivy vines he’s adding to his second client’s arm, but she’s not due in for a few more minutes. He deposits his first customer’s payment in the cash drawer and settles in behind the front counter. The phone hasn’t so much as rung and he’s hardly even noticed anyone walking by on the sidewalk out front of the shop, let alone had any interested walk ins. The weekend before finals is always one of the slowest of the year for him. Everyone’s too busy cramming for exams to even think about blowing a chunk of hours getting tattooed. He deems it the perfect time to pull out Cas’s wing designs and give them another look.

***

Sunday morning, Cas takes Gabriel’s advice to relax and let himself recuperate from the last few days. He sleeps late after his long chat with Dean, staying in bed to savor the last wisps of a dream he only recalls in bright splashes of color punctuated with Dean’s smiling face. It was a very good dream, and it carries him all the way through to the kitchen to brew a pot of the fancy coffee Gabriel had given him. Gabriel is apparently not in residence, and a note on the kitchen counter informs Cas he’s gone out to run a few errands.

He leans against the counter and sighs, soaking up the quiet of the kitchen and wondering if they have any more of those pastries left. A quick scrounge through the pantry proves they do, and Cas gratefully devours a slightly stale raspberry danish with his first cup of coffee. He found his lucky tie last night, so there’s not really much for him to do to prepare for his presentation other than revisit all his notes. He sags at the thought of it and decides to settle in on the sofa with the doorstop of a novel Gabriel had put in his housewarming gift box instead.

After an indulgently long shower and getting dressed for the day in his softest blue t-shirt and comfortably worn in jeans, Cas spends a few minutes just quietly admiring his room. Amid all the other upheaval in his life, he really appreciates the oasis of calm Gabriel offered him here. He even checks on his little potted succulent again, which still seems to be thriving despite him. Satisfied that it’s in no immediate danger, he goes to the kitchen and pours himself another cup of coffee. He finally settles on the sofa and makes himself comfortable for a long and relaxing afternoon of reading.

His relaxation lasts a grand total of four and a half minutes. He’s just found the start of the novel after skimming through the author’s notes and read the first few pages when he hears his phone chime a text notification from his room. Any other day of his life, he’d ignore it and go right on reading. If it’s an emergency at the hospital, they’ll actually call, and pretty much everything else can wait. But this morning, it could be Dean, and he hates the idea of making Dean wait when all he’s doing is sitting there reading quietly. After a moment’s internal debate, he sets the book face down on the coffee table to mark his page and goes to retrieve his phone.

All the anticipation he’d built up on the short walk from the other room congeals in his throat and sinks through him like an anvil, dragging every growing bubble of happiness in his chest along with it. The message isn’t from Dean, but from Nick. And the guy wrote him a wall of text novel from hell. He has to scroll up for several seconds to even find the top of it.

_ >>Castiel, I wondered if you’d reconsidered moving out now that you’ve had some time to process everything. It’s not like you to give up on yourself like this. This is the sort of thing I might expect from Hannah or Kevin after a failed surgery like you had on Thursday. But you? I’d expected better from you, Castiel. Why don’t you tell me where you’re living now. HR doesn’t have your change of address on file yet. I can come by and we can discuss your future. You don’t have to run away from your problems. We should compare notes before the M&M tomorrow anyway, make sure we’re on the same page. This doesn’t have to be the end of your career if you’re willing to let me help. _

Cas stands there reading and rereading the message, letting it sink in completely. It’s definitely threatening, without outright saying he’s willing to lie to intentionally damage Cas’s reputation. Or Gabriel’s, for that matter, as the only other doctor in the room for his botched surgery. Cas is momentarily torn between throwing his phone across the room or throwing up. He’s not sure either would be particularly useful. When he’s recovered his wits, he shoots off a quick message to Gabriel and Pamela, letting them both know that Nick is trying to contact him, and asking what he should do. He takes screenshots of Nick’s message and adds them to the group chat, and then sets his phone face down on the foot of the bed and sits down to await further instructions. Unfortunately, it’s Nick who replies first.

_ >>I guess I shouldn’t have expected a reply on Sunday morning, even if I know you read my message. I can give you a little time to think about this. It’s a lot, but you don’t have to be afraid. You let me know when you’re ready to talk. _

Cas reads it quickly, takes another screenshot, and then sends it to Gabriel and Pamela, as well.

_ <<I’m not even going to open any additional messages he sends until I hear back from you. He’s apparently flagrantly stalking me now, and unconcerned with telling me so _.

He stares at the phone in his hand and feels like the entire day has taken a turn for the worse. There’s no point to attempting to read for pleasure now. There’s no way he can avoid thinking about Nick, or the patient he all but murdered in front of Cas and Gabriel both, and now might be trying to pin on him. He debates even sending the messages to Billie for one crazed moment before deciding that Pamela should be the one to do that, submitting them officially as part of their records.

Cas’s thoughts are interrupted a moment later by the phone ringing and he’s so distracted he almost answers it out of habit, expecting it to be the hospital. His thumb hovers over the screen to answer until he sees _ Nick Morningstar calling_, and dismisses it instead. It rings again only seconds later, and again he dismisses the call. A minute later, a voicemail notification chimes and despite being fairly certain he doesn’t want to hear whatever Nick has to say, he knows he must. He pushes play on the message with a sinking sense of dread.

“I guess there’s a good chance you’re trying to avoid dealing with this, or with me, but you owe me, Castiel. I signed off on your residency here, and I can just as easily end it. And I only just remembered hospital issued phones have GPS installed, so by the time you’re done listening to this message, I’ll know where you’re hiding out. Expect me any time. One way or another, you’re gonna have to deal with this.”

A chill runs down Cas’s spine, and in a fit of panic, he shuts off his phone entirely, and then tosses it in his closet and slams the door, as if that will block the GPS signal more than switching the power off already did. There’s no way in hell he wants to be caught home alone by Nick, if he actually did manage to trace his location before he shut off the phone. Cas isn’t even sure that’s possible, and he’s about 90% sure he disabled the GPS tracking function in his phone anyway, but he’s not willing to take the chance that Nick knows some secret way around that now.

He’s torn between simply hiding out-- maybe diving into the closet after his phone and waiting in the dark pretending he doesn’t exist until Gabriel gets back-- and making a run for it. Everywhere he can think to go is somewhere Nick might look for him anyway, between the hospital and the few places Nick’s certainly aware he spends his free time, especially on a Sunday afternoon. It’s a depressingly short list, and Gabriel’s voice in his head taunts him for his complete lack of ambition in exploring his town more in the past. And then he remembers his car, his _ freedom _as Gabriel had put it, and makes an executive decision.

He grabs his wallet, keys, and instinctively checks his pockets for his phone before remembering tossing it into exile after causing this whole situation in the first place. He berates himself all the way to the kitchen, flips Gabriel’s note over and leaves one of his own on the back, hastily explaining why he’s left and informing Gabriel he’ll call him when he figures out where he’s going. Cas spares a moment to read over his words, making sure they’re not unintelligible garble in his haste, and sincerely hopes he can remember Gabriel’s phone number correctly. It’s not like he can turn on his phone to double check that now.

Cas locks up the house and gets in his car. He lets the rumble of the engine soothe him as he backs out of the driveway and heads, probably out of sheer habit, toward the hospital, even though he knows he can’t actually go there. It’s blessedly less than a minute later that he finds himself driving past Pamela’s office and Dean’s shop, and knows if nothing else, Dean will certainly know how to get a hold of Pamela. They are friends, after all. He looks for a parking spot on the street, but there’s not one conveniently available so he drives around the block until he spots Dean’s beautiful black car parked out behind the building and pulls in next to it. As he gets out, he can’t help but think their two cars look pretty damn good together.

“The best 1967 had to offer,” he mutters under his breath with a funny fluttering feeling in his stomach.

It’s then that he notices Sam’s little red car parked beside Dean’s, and feels like an idiot. Of course he can talk to Sam, since he’s working on his case, as well. Sam will hopefully know what he should do now. He lets himself relax incrementally as he walks back around the building, past Pamela’s darkened windows to the tattoo shop’s front door. Thank fuck they’re open since he can’t exactly call for an appointment, and he heaves a sigh of relief as he pulls the door open to a tinkling of bells.

Music quietly plays over the soundsystem, not quite louder than the buzz of a tattoo needle and the warm roll of laughter that he instantly knows belongs to Dean. Beyond the glass display case that serves as the front counter, he sees Dean setting down his tattoo machine as he tells his client he’ll be right back. He stands up and turns around, and his eyes go wide with shock when he sees who his potential customer is.

Cas knows he’s standing there frozen just inside the door, overwhelmed by the interior of the shop plastered with a disarming array of artwork and concert posters in equal measure, and suddenly entirely unsure of what he’s even doing there. It shouldn’t surprise him that Dean’s reaction is to frown and cautiously approach him as if Cas could explode if he makes any sudden movements.

“Cas?” Dean asks as he reaches the counter and edges his way around it, one hand raised as if he’s debating between reaching for Cas or preparing to fend him off should he attack. “Are you okay?”

He’s about to answer that he’s fine, of course he’s fine, but he is absolutely not fine. He slowly shakes his head side to side, and Dean’s frown deepens. But at least his shoulders have relaxed and he ventures close enough to rest his outstretched hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

Cas glances over Dean’s shoulder to the woman he’d been tattooing before he barged in. She’s splitting her attention between admiring her new half-finished artwork and surreptitiously keeping an eye the two of them standing across the room. He drags his attention back to Dean’s face and drops his voice nearly to a whisper.

“Something terrible has happened, and I wasn’t able to reach Pamela or Gabriel. I didn’t think it was safe to stay at home, and then I drove past your shop and thought yes, I will be safe here.”

He knows it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth, and he doesn’t bother trying to explain any further. Dean’s eyebrows jump at that revelation, but he smiles and Cas is almost sure Dean’s cheeks have gone a bit pinker than they were. Dean’s hand squeezes reassuringly down on his shoulder as he turns to glance back at his client. She pretends she hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, and Dean rolls his eyes as he focuses back on Cas.

“I got maybe an hour more left on her appointment, but you’re welcome to hang out here any time you need. I can close up the shop, and as soon as I’m done you can tell me what’s up, okay?”

Cas nods, once again feeling relief wash over him.

“Is Sam here? I thought maybe he’d be able to help, since he’s already familiar with my case. You shouldn’t have to close your shop just for me.”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, Sam’s out on a date. I don’t know when he’ll be back, but you’re more than welcome to wait down here and keep us company,” he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at his client. She seems keen on the idea, anyway. “Or you can go hang out upstairs.”

Cas frowns a little at that. “Now I wish I’d brought my book.”

Dean snorts. “We got books upstairs, you know. I live with a giant nerd, remember?”

“You complained to me last night how the Lord of the Rings movies treated Faramir compared to how he was written in the books. I don’t think Sam is the nerd here.”

Dean frowns at that. “Sam’s just the wrong kind of nerd.”

“And you’re insinuating that I would be more interested in Sam’s kind of nerd books than yours?” Cas can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, and the warm feeling that comes from seeing a similar grin spread across Dean’s in response. “I hope I’m not the wrong kind of nerd.”

“This is what I was missing last night,” Dean mutters under his breath, and Cas marvels at the twinge of wonder and amusement hidden beneath the words. “Fine, so what were you reading?”

“The Stand,” Cas answers, already having decided he wouldn’t waste an hour he could spend in Dean’s company hiding away with any book.

Dean seems to have decided the same, using his hand on Cas’s shoulder to lead him around the counter and then pulling up a chair for him to sit in near his tattoo station.

“Celia, this is Cas,” Dean says, giving him a nudge into the waiting chair. “He’s gonna be chilling with us because I’d run upstairs and grab him my copy of The Stand, but I’d probably throw my back out carrying it back down.”

Celia laughs, and Dean grins over at him before picking up his tattoo machine and getting back to work. Over the next hour, Cas doesn’t even think about his own problems, carried away on the easy conversation and completely mesmerized watching Dean work. He can’t help but feel at home.

***

Cas showing up at the shop had been a complete surprise, but it had only taken a second for Dean to decide it was the best kind of surprise, despite the deer in the headlights look in his eyes. He can’t exactly kick a client out of the chair with a half finished tattoo, and resigns himself to doing what he can to keep Cas’s mind of his problems until he’s done. The way Cas perks up makes it worth the effort, and Cas even gets into it on a professional level, asking questions about the technical aspects of inserting color to just the right depth so as not to scar or bleed out again.

“And you don’t find it exceedingly painful?” he asks Celia after they’ve been chatting for a while.

She laughs and smiles at him fondly. “Some spots hurt more than others, but this one hasn’t been too bad. It’s about like being harassed by a very tiny vibrating belt sander. It’s mildly irritating, but in a strange way it actually feels kinda pleasant.” She pauses for a moment, grinning at the lush green leaves growing along her arm from Dean’s needle. “Maybe that’s just because I know the result is more than worth it.”

Cas nods along, and Dean catches him smiling with a faraway look in his eyes. The two of them met under some mildly irritating circumstances, and Cas showed up at the shop today under some shady circumstances as well, and Dean is sure the result has been more than worth it on both counts already. When he turns back to Celia, she gives him a knowing smile which he pointedly ignores and gets back to work.

When he’s finished bandaging up her arm and giving her the usual spiel of instructions on caring for it as she pays and leaves him a generous tip, Dean walks Celia to the front door. He sees her out and then locks the door and flips the sign in the window indicating the shop is closed.

“As happy as I am you stopped by, I take it from what you said before your reason for being here wasn’t just a social call,” Dean says, turning around to find Cas leaning against the counter.

He’d been smiling until Dean went and opened his mouth, but now his shoulders sag just a bit and Dean feels like he kicked a puppy. Much as he would rather Cas wasn’t going through his own personal hell at all, it’s probably best not to ignore the problem. He could’ve waited five fucking minutes to drag the conversation back around to less than fun subjects, though.

“Sorry, I know I’m shit at this sort of thing, but you looked pretty freaked out when you walked in here and I gotta know, is everything okay?”

Cas takes a huge breath and blows it out. “I feel exponentially better than I did an hour ago, thanks to your company. I appreciate that, Dean. But you’re right. I came here hoping for shelter and safety, and you provided that admirably, but I think you might be able to help.”

“I’m all yours, then,” Dean says, holding out his arms and taking a seat on one of the sofas in the tiny waiting area at the front of the shop.

Cas walks over and sits down a respectable distance away. He fills Dean in on everything that had happened. Dean politely restrains himself from laughing when Cas gets to the part about what he did to his phone, but he nearly busts a blood vessel trying to hold it in. Cas has pity on him.

“You can laugh, Dean. I’m fully aware of how dumb it sounds now.”

Dean does exactly that, sputtering out between gasps, “So it’s just… lying there on the floor in a closet…”

Cas is smiling too, so Dean doesn’t feel _ too _ bad about it. Eventually Cas gives up waiting for him to get himself under control and finishes his story, bringing him right up to Dean’s front door.

“Yeah, Sam should be back soon, and I can call Pamela for you and tell her you’re here with me,” Dean says eventually, pulling out his phone. “Hell, they’re probably all freaked out about you by now. It’s been a while since you sent those messages.”

He sends a text to Pamela updating her on Cas’s current location, and she calls back within a minute and asks to speak with him. Dean puts it on speaker and sets the phone on the sofa between them.

“Cas, are you okay?” she asks immediately.

Cas explains _ again_, and far more coherently this time, why he left the house so quickly and hadn’t been answering his phone. Dean manages to keep his laugh to a subtle snort this time as Pamela explains that Gabriel found his note, but it had been light enough on the details to send him running around town looking for Cas’s car parked outside his usual haunts.

“I assumed Nick would attempt to find me at the library or one of the shops or restaurants I frequent. Gabriel probably drove right past Dean’s shop and never knew I was here because I parked out back.”

“Smart thinking,” Pamela says.

Cas snorts. “There weren’t any available spots out front. I don’t think anything I did after leaving Gabriel’s can be chalked up to smart anything.”

“Hey, you ended up here, and thinking or not, I’d say that turned out to be a pretty smart choice,” Dean says quietly.

“Well, you two stay put for now,” Pamela says. “I got some work to do. I’m gonna have someone drive past your house to make sure Nick’s not there staking the place out, and I need to call Billie and update her on the threats he made against you. Do I have your permission to access your voicemail and texts, and hand them over as evidence?”

“You do, but I’m not comfortable going back to the house to get my phone right now.”

“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll have Sam swing by the shop and get your keys. He’ll pick up your phone and deliver it to me. I’ll take it from there, okay? You’re gonna be okay, Cas. Just breathe. You’re safe now.”

Cas looks up at Dean and smiles. “Yes, I know I am.”

Dean fidgets a bit at the fond tone in Cas’s voice, and can’t help what he says next, waving a hand around at the art on the walls. “Yeah, thanks to Pamela, there’s a bunch of protective symbols hidden among all the flash. Nothing wicked this way comes, or whatever.”

Pamela laughs at that. “Yeah, you should have Dean carve one of those bad boys on you. Ward off demons permanently.”

Cas tilts his head as if he’s seriously considering it, leaving Dean even more flustered. “Yeah, well, I guess we gotta pass the time somehow.”

“You do that,” Pamela says seriously, “and I’ll be in touch when I have something to report. You take care of my client, Dean. He’s one of the good ones.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dean mutters as he disconnects the call.

“So what are these protective symbols, and do they really work?” Cas asks. “And do you have any that protect against harassment from Satan incarnate?”

Dean tugs the collar of his shirt down, revealing the star inside a circle of flames on his own chest, surrounded by glimpses of other images spreading across his chest and shoulder. “This one supposedly protects against demons, but me and Sammy both got ‘em years ago.”

“I suppose that’s proof it works, since you’re not currently possessed by a demon,” Cas says, but it comes out more like a probing question, and Dean laughs again.

“Nope, this is all me. There won’t be any levitation or pea soup today.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Cas replies. “Levitation sounds relaxing, and I haven’t had lunch yet.”

“We are not having pea soup for lunch, Cas,” Dean replies, but he’s grinning again. “How about we call out for tacos, and I’ll show you a few books of symbols while we wait?”

“Better yet, how about you show me the wings you’ve been working on,” Cas replies. “After you order tacos, of course. Priorities.”

Dean laughs nervously, even though he’d already sent Cas pictures of the art, it’s still a pretty big deal showing him the design in person. For the first time since Cas arrived, Dean realizes he’s not wearing any sort of bulky coat over his t-shirt and jeans. He’s finally got a moment to begin processing what he’s seeing, and he definitely approves. From the artist portion of his brain, the broad shoulders and muscular arms he picks out through Cas’s thin shirt will provide the perfect canvas for those wings. From the portion of his brain that’s dangerously close to admitting he might be falling just a little bit in love with the guy already, he’s having a hard time translating his impression of Cas’s shoulders into socially acceptable thoughts.

So he goes ahead and orders lunch and hopes he can keep that second part of his brain in check. Once the food is on the way, he leads Cas over to the counter and pulls out the drawing, explaining how he intends to fit it to Cas’s back, where the wings will fade from his skin, leaving the impression that anyone seeing them wasn’t looking at physical wings, but the light refracted and cast onto his skin through a much larger set of invisible wings.

“Like a giant prism,” Cas says. “Like I’ve got wings made of something celestial and imperceptible by human eyesight that happened to catch the light at just the right angle to make a sort of… reverse shadow…” he trails off, so Dean finishes the thought for him.

“I’ve been thinking of it almost like a stained glass window. Like a rose window in a cathedral.”

Cas grins at him, and Dean can see everything on his face that he’d hoped and imagined was there the night before. Only seeing it for real is almost as blinding as he imagines Cas’s invisible wings would be.

“Yes, I think I like that very much, Dean. But I think my journey into tattooing should probably start with something slightly less ambitious. So, tell me about this protection symbol,” he says, pointing to the spot on Dean’s shirt covering the star on his chest.

Their food arrives right then and Dean makes the decision to take Cas upstairs to his kitchen to eat. It’s more comfortable than trying to eat tacos in the shop’s cramped break room, and he’s got beer up there. If he’s gonna start in on the story of his life, as told through his tattoos, he’s definitely gonna need a beer. Cas only hesitates for a moment before shrugging and following him up the stairs.

“Beer?” Dean asks, setting the bags down on the table and turning to find Cas studying the apartment.

Cas debates it for a moment, and then finally shrugs. “Why not?”

Dean nods and grabs a couple from the fridge, twisting off the caps before setting one down in front of Cas and taking a swig from his own.

“So, protection symbols. I actually have a bunch of them, but the star’s the first one I got. My old boss back in Kansas used to tell everyone he was secretly a demon hunter, but he inked that on me, and then turned around and had me ink it on Sam. He was my first living victim. Well, after myself.” He rubs at his flame-covered wrist self-consciously and then forces himself to pick up a taco instead.

Cas unwraps his food and then focuses his attention back on Dean’s visible tattoos, mainly the clouds of smoke and flames on his left arm peeking out below where he’s rolled the sleeves of his flannel shirt nearly to his elbows. Dean catches him looking and sets down the taco he was about to bite into and pulls off the long-sleeved shirt, draping it over the chair beside him. He slides up the sleeve of his t-shirt to his shoulder, showing off the rest of the work.

“First tattoo I did on myself,” he says, and then corrects himself. “Well, the parts I could reach, anyway. Mick finished it for me. Said he appreciated the design and it would be a shame to leave it unfinished just because I can’t reach the back of my own arm.”

Cas studies every inch of it as Dean slowly turns his arm. “You designed this all yourself?”

Dean shrugs, knowing the eventual questions will come and for once feeling like giving an honest answer. Cas already knows most of his history anyway, but this functions as an effective visual aid. Show and tell, Dean Winchester style, it is.

“I told you my mom died in a fire when I was a kid. I used to want to be a fireman. You know, save people from having that happen to them, too. Life after the fire sucked for us. Dad went off the rails and spent less and less time at home. Eventually got shuttled off to my uncle’s, and when Dad came to get us a few weeks later, Bobby told him to fuck off and come back when he didn’t stink like a distillery. He came back once after that, a year or so later, acting like he’d never disappeared in the first place. Bobby didn’t buy the act, and after staying with us a couple of days, he disappeared again. Got a call about six months later that he’d been found dead outside some hospital. Heart attack, they guessed, but Bobby didn’t bother having an autopsy done.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. You should never have had to go through any of that.”

Dean shrugs, focusing his attention back on his food to avoid having to see pity in Cas’s eyes. “It was a long time ago, but it was my journey through Hell. I survived it, came out the other side with the help of a lot of good people. You know, I call him my uncle, but Bobby’s not even a blood relative. He still took us in and treated us like his own. I think out of my entire family, Sam’s the only one I’m actually even related to by blood.”

“It sounds like you were fortunate to have been found by some incredible people.”

Dean nods and smiles at that. “Yeah. I didn’t even know Bobby had kept up all the paperwork on our old house, made sure the taxes were paid every year and everything. It had been my grandparents house, and they’d left it to my mom, paid off. I just don’t think Dad could stay there after she died. It was never really his, you know? So when I turned eighteen, Bobby handed over the deed and told me it was mine to do with what I wanted. I moved me and Sammy back there, fixed it up, and kept working at Bobby’s garage, taking a few shifts at Ellen’s bar to cover the bills and keep food on the table. Between the two of them I learned how to run a successful business. And then I focused all my free time into an apprenticeship learning how to do this,” he says, patting his arm.

“And the hand?” Cas asks, pointing up at Dean’s shoulder where the flames bled out into the distinct imprint of a large hand, like someone had dipped their hand in red paint and then grabbed him by the shoulder.

Dean pats at the handprint uncomfortably and then gives Cas the best smile he can muster. “Mick’s idea. Said that’s where my guardian angel grabbed me up and yanked me outta the hellfire.”

Cas’s eyebrows knit together and his head tilts very slightly to the side. He starts to reach up with his own hand, as if he wants to measure it up against the impression. “Is that Mick’s handprint?”

Dean snorts, but doesn’t take his eyes off Cas’s hand, hovering six painful inches from his skin. “Hell, no it’s not. Dude was a freak. He actually brought in some guy who said he was a palm reader or fortune teller or some shit. Asked me a bunch of really fucking weird questions, and then sat there in some sorta trance and drew the outline. Told me someday it would lead me to my angel. Mick just transferred it to my skin.”

“Is this some sort of mystical Cinderella story? Find the person whose hand fits the print, and you’ll live happily ever after?”

Dean shrugs a little uncomfortably. He’d dismissed the entire notion when Mick first explained his idea for the handprint, but that hadn’t stopped him from going through with it. He’s always wondered if anyone’s hand actually matched perfectly. If nothing else, it had made for some interesting conversations over the years, and more than a fair few disappointed lovers who felt slighted when their hand didn’t quite match up. So he’s both terrified and weirdly hopeful when Cas keeps looking him right in the eye.

“If you wanna think about it that way, I guess it could,” Dean says, his voice cracking halfway through.

He’s just met Cas, and everything about him has just _ clicked_. There’s obviously something between them, and from the look on Cas’s face, he feels it too. He’s told Cas stuff that he’s never shared with anyone, including Sam, and he’s fighting down the turmoil churning in his gut that’s both begging Cas to just get it over with and touch him, while not wanting all of this to come crashing down over something as trivial as a tattoo he got when he was eighteen years old and too dumb to argue with some kook who thought he could see the future. He’s suddenly reminded of the message he’d sent Cas when he was half asleep.

_ Night angel _.

“Well, go on,” he says, no idea where this courage is coming from. “See if you’re my angel.”

Cas hesitates just a moment longer, and Dean watches the same anxious tension wash over his face. He takes a deep breath and spreads his fingers out to rest his fingertips against the marks on Dean’s skin. His hand feels almost too warm against his skin, almost as if he’s searing the impression of his hand in like a burn. They both stare down at Dean’s shoulder, equally baffled at how perfectly they line up.

“Huh,” is all Dean can say.

Cas clears his throat and then says nervously. “Well, I suppose that’s meant to be.”

They just stare at each other for a minute, until the back door to the shop opens, and Sam calls out looking for them.


	9. Chapter 9

“Dean, Castiel, are you guys upstairs?” Sam yells from the bottom of the stairs.

Dean clears his throat, eyes still locked on Cas’s, and calls back, “Kitchen. We’re in the kitchen.”

Dean half expects him to come bounding up the stairs like he usually does, but it takes him longer than usual to come sauntering into the kitchen. The reason becomes evident when Rowena walks through the door beside him.

“Hello again, Dean,” she says, and then turns her eyes to Cas. “And you must be the doctor who healed our Samuel.”

Cas blinks at her for a moment, wondering if he’s supposed to know who she is. Dean explains with a little smirk in her direction.

“Cas, this is Rowena. Aka the reason Sam needed your healing powers in the first place.”

“Well that’s impolite, dear,” Rowena replies with a wry grin while Sam sputters and glares at Dean. She doesn’t need his bumbling defense anyway. She swoops into the room and seats herself in the empty chair beside Cas. “I can hardly be blamed if Sam’s particular streak of gallantry runs to flinging himself into the road to avoid collisions.”

“Yeah,” Sam finally manages actual words, rubbing his shoulder through his sling. “I think if I’d actually hit you we would’ve needed an ambulance.”

Rowena smiles up at Sam. “I haven’t entirely ruled it out as an option.”

Sam sputters again, and then remembers why they’re there and directs his attention back to Cas. “Pamela sent me. She said to ask for your house key, that I need to pick up your phone.”

Cas pulls out his keys, starts removing the house key from the ring, but then gives up and hands the entire set to Sam, unicorn and all. “Don’t laugh. Gabriel gave it to me.”

“Yeah, I can believe that,” Sam says, grinning down at the keychain. “So where did you leave your phone?”

Cas doesn’t subject Dean to the whole story again, which he’s only a little bit disappointed about. “It’s on the floor of the closet in my room. Through the living room, down the hall past Gabriel’s office. I believe I left my door open.”

Sam nods, but before he can say anything else, Cas goes on.

“Just be careful, and don’t turn it on. Leave that to Pamela, preferably in a location far from wherever I am. And keep an eye out for Nick. I still don’t know if he was telling the truth about discovering my location, but if he was, then he could very well be at the house.”

Sam gives him a grim but firm look. “Pamela talked with Billie, and as far as she knows, Nick shouldn’t have access to that system. It’s only used in emergencies, and the hospital’s IT manager insists it hasn’t been activated today. She thinks it was a bluff on his part, but we’re going under the assumption that he’s a threat either way.”

Cas nods absently. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this, and I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am for your help.” He glances over at Dean. “All of you.”

“Hey, man, that’s what we do,” Dean says, patting Cas’s hand where it rests on the table between them.

“I don’t think any of this is on your regular agenda, Dean,” Cas replies, managing a bit of a smile again before turning back to Sam. “Have you been able to reach Gabriel yet?”

“Yeah, Pamela got him on the phone right after she talked to you. He’s still out running errands, and then I think he’s going to Pamela’s place. At least until we figure out what’s going on with Nick. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Cas sighs and nods again. “I appreciate it, Sam. And thank you.”

“Don’t you worry,” Rowena says, patting Cas’s arm as she stands up to leave with Sam. “You took care of Sam, and now you can rest easy and let us take care of you.” She turns and grins up at Sam. “You know, this has been the most interesting date I’ve been on in years.”

She takes Sam by the elbow and leads him out. He looks back over his shoulder with a smirk at Dean, who just shakes his head in wonder. “She sounds like a keeper, Sammy.”

A minute later, the back door to the shop slams shut, and once again Dean and Cas are alone.

“So,” Dean says, letting it drag out and hang in the air between them, his mind racing back to where they’d been before Sam interrupted, and wondering if it’s even possible to get back there again. “Uh, sounds like we’ve got even more time to kill. If you’re serious about wanting that tattoo…”

Cas raises an eyebrow at him, glances down at Dean’s shoulder now covered by his sleeve again, and shrugs. “I think after this afternoon’s revelations, I’d be a fool to turn down the offer.”

***

While they finish their food, Cas takes a turn telling Dean about his life. He figures it’s only fair, after hearing Dean’s story. They’d both shared some details during their marathon texting session, but it’s not the greatest medium for sharing childhood trauma with someone you’re feeling more and more attracted to by the minute.

Cas tells him about growing up near Chicago in an exceedingly large and religious family, the youngest of all his siblings and half siblings, and largely overlooked by his overworked parents. His oldest brothers had left for college by the time he was even born, and he’d always felt like an afterthought in his own home.

“Who the hell could overlook you, Cas?” Dean says, pouring him a glass of ice water he insists he drink before tattooing him, reminding him that hydration is important. “You’re one of the most un-overlook-able people I’ve ever met.”

Cas shrugs and dutifully drinks his water. “With seven older brothers and sisters in front of me in line for attention, after a while it felt pointless to even try. So I kept my head down and put all my energy into succeeding at school. It paid off when I got a full scholarship to Princeton and I was able to leave home on my own terms. The only thing I regretted was moving from one cold and miserable climate to another. After I finished medical school, I was lucky enough to match with Stanford’s residency program, and I hope to stay on with the hospital when I’m finished next year.” He hesitates for a minute, staring down at his empty plate. “If this entire ordeal with Dr. Morningstar hasn’t ruined my chances.”

“Dude,” Dean says, scoffing. “I don’t know how hospital administration works, but it kinda sounds like you got the chief of medicine on your side already. Billie, right?”

Cas nods. “Dr. Mantus, yes. For whatever reason, she seems to have taken a special interest in my case. She spent an hour going over my notes for tomorrow’s staff review of the Adler surgery. I feel fairly confident that I’ll at least be cleared of any wrongdoing. But the rest is up to the other doctors on the panel. If it were up to Billie, Nick’s career would be over tomorrow, but her hands are tied to a certain extent.”

“Well, that’s where Pamela comes in,” Dean says, grinning at him and clearing away their dishes. “She wouldn’t have even taken your case if she didn’t think she was gonna win.”

“You make it sound like a foregone conclusion,” Cas replies, standing up and nudging Dean out of the way at the sink to take over washing the dishes. Dean tries to protest, but Cas levels him with a glare and Dean relents, picking up a dish towel and taking over drying duties. “I’m not sure I can muster that level of confidence. You don’t know Nick. Billie’s been trying to get rid of him for years, but he always manages to slither away unscathed.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know Pamela,” Dean replies. “All the protection symbol shit? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. She’ll never say it out loud, or she’ll just call it instincts or whatever, but you talk to her for more than an hour and you’ll be wondering if she’s actually psychic. I’m pretty damn sure she’s getting messages from the beyond, or whatever. Something. It’s just… not natural, how often she’s right.”

Cas frowns and hands Dean the final clean glass and watches him dry it and put it back in the cupboard. “Like the psychic who drew my handprint on your shoulder?”

Dean freezes with his back turned to Cas and gives a little shudder before slowly turning around and facing him. He gives an uncomfortable little laugh, as if he’s just as stunned as Cas is by this strange development.

“You know,” Dean says quietly, leaning back against the counter and looking down at his feet. He takes a deep breath and looks up at Cas, a strange light of hope in his eyes. “Until about an hour ago, I thought that guy was full of shit. I thought Mick was pulling my leg. He had this thing about tattoos really meaning something, so I thought he was trying to give me a better story to tell than the fires of hell and my fucked up childhood. Even after meeting Pamela, I still thought she was probably the exception. But then I met you, and I…”

He trails off, studying Cas for his reaction. Cas knows he’s just blinking, mouth open in shock, but Dean seems to take that as encouragement and pushes off the counter. He walks right up to Cas, sidestepping around him with a hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the door. Cas assumes they’re going down to the shop, but Dean leads him down a hall and into his bedroom. He walks right over to his desk and opens a sketchbook to the image of an angel hanging in a heavenly sky, silhouetted by the too-large moon. It’s a slightly different image than the one Dean had sent him the other night, more detailed. Dean lets him look his fill, and then without another word flips to the first page in the book. The idea behind the image is the same, but it’s rough, and there’s no angel. That version of Heaven is empty but for the moon and stars.

“Drew that the day after Mick finished my shoulder,” Dean says quietly. “Figured if I was getting pulled outta hell, then I should have a heaven waiting for me, right? Power of positive thinking, maybe.”

He turns to the next page, and the angel is there, just a tiny rough outline of wings, almost inconspicuous enough to miss.

“Never felt finished enough to commit it to my own skin, though,” Dean says, flipping slowly through the evolution of his Heaven, from pencil sketches and rushed outlines at the start, slowly taking shape and filling out and taking on color and light. The angel is slightly different in every version-- large wings, small wings, bird wings, bat wings-- more variations than Cas can comprehend. “Startin’ to think I just needed to meet my angel before it would all make sense.”

Cas stands there, stunned, feeling a bit like he’s watching the evolution of Dean’s soul laid bare on the pages. “These are all beautiful, Dean.”

Dean shrugs and continues turning pages. “I never showed ‘em to anyone else. Still don’t know what possessed me to send it to you the other night. But it’s starting to make sense to me now, if you believe in all this psychic shit.”

Cas nods slowly as Dean finally reaches the end of the drawings. Almost the entire book is full, and he feels like he’s just arrived at a long-awaited destination after an arduous journey. Almost like coming home. He’s been holding his breath long enough that his ears are ringing as Dean runs his hand over the image and then shuts the sketchbook. He turns and watches Cas, waiting for his reaction. Cas knows exactly what to say.

“And then you met me, and one of the first things I told you about myself is that I’ve spent the better part of a decade wanting to get angel wings tattooed across my back. I’d never told anyone that, either. We do seem strangely capable of bringing this sort of thing out in one another.”

Dean’s tense smile grows into a grin, and then he’s laughing, shaking his head. “Maybe we are a matched set after all. Shit, if I ever have to tell Mick about this, he will never let us live it down.”

Cas grins at him and shrugs. “I don’t know him, but I’d say it’s been worth it.”

“I really hope so, Cas,” Dean says.

He licks his lips and hesitates for a moment. Cas wonders if Dean’s about to kiss him, but he bites his lip and swallows hard.

“So, you wanna go get that tattoo now?”

Cas nods, and Dean reaches out slowly and takes his hand. There isn’t an electric surge of heat like he’d felt when he’d touched Dean’s handprint tattoo, but there is a comfortable and comforting warmth between their hands as he interlaces his fingers with Dean’s and follows him down to the shop.

Dean never lets go of his hand as he leads him around the shop pointing out all the hidden sigils among the other artwork, explaining the meaning and purpose of each of them. He immediately rejects the angel banishing sigil despite Dean suggesting with a smirk that it might be useful for keeping Lucifer at bay. There’s symbols designed to reveal the truth, to manifest thoughts into reality, and ward off evils of every variety. In the end, Cas decides it’s easiest and most efficient to get the star symbol Dean showed him first. If his choice feels even more right because it was also Dean’s first tattoo, he admits that’s probably not a bad thing, considering. The look Dean gives him when Cas tells him this is worth it in and of itself.

“Where do you want it?” Dean asks, while he prepares the stencil transfer and sets up his tray of tools and inks.

Cas stands beside him, watching him work. He doesn’t expect the question, and answers with a start. “The same place as yours? I assumed that’s where it’s most effective at doing its job.”

Dean laughs with a little shrug. “Don’t think it makes a difference, really, but it’s easy to hide there. When I showed mine to Pamela, she approved. Said you don’t put protection symbols on display for the people you’re protecting yourself against.”

Cas frowns at this but eventually nods. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

Dean’s got his equipment ready and pulls a pair of disposable gloves from a box. “Okay, so this’ll probably be easiest if you take off your shirt.”

Cas blinks at him for a second, watching the slight blush crawl across Dean’s cheeks. He can feel his own face growing warm, too, which is ridiculous. Dean and he both spend their days looking at human bodies in various states of undress, and like himself, he assumes Dean has inured himself to nudity. And yet here he is, casting awkward glances at Cas and shuffling his feet as if this is the first time he’s had to ask someone to remove their shirt in a professional capacity.

This small thing, on top of a mountain of arguably larger things, is what sends Cas’s heart racing. The bubbling feeling in his stomach that had grown since their first meeting explodes into a flock of millions of birds taking flight all at once. He takes a step closer to Dean, until he’s right up in his personal space, reaches up to touch Dean’s cheek and turn his face toward him, and waits until Dean looks him in the eyes.

“I don’t know why you seem nervous about this, but I’ve never been as sure of anything in my life.”

Dean studies him for a moment and then nods, slowly leaning closer, giving him a chance to back away. Cas doesn’t want to back away. He closes his eyes and the rest of the distance between them.

Their first kiss is soft, shockingly gentle considering the landslide of feelings they’re barely holding back. Cas slides his fingertips up Dean’s cheek and into his hair, both pulling Dean closer and holding on with everything he has. Dean wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him even closer. The kiss doesn’t stay soft and gentle for long, and Cas slips his other hand under the hem of Dean’s shirt, dragging warm fingers over the skin of Dean’s lower back. Dean sighs into his mouth and pulls back, laying one last sweet kiss on his lips as he leans back to catch his breath. He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh and smiles at Cas as he rests their foreheads together.

“We should probably either find somewhere more comfortable for this, or else put it on hold until after we get your tattoo done,” Dean says, his voice gone deep and rumbling.

Cas nods, his nose bumping against Dean’s as he does. “You’re probably right. I don’t think we should be committing health code violations in your shop, at any rate.”

Dean laughs again, hand still absently moving in a soothing little circle on Cas’s back. “So, since we’re already here, tattoo first?”

“If you can restrain yourself, I’ll remove my shirt,” Cas replies.

“I’ll do my best,” Dean says, and then Cas kisses him one last time before stepping out of Dean’s embrace, hands lingering and sliding away reluctantly as they part.

Cas turns his back and lifts his shirt over his head, draping it over the arm of the reclining tattoo chair. He hears Dean draw in a breath, and turns back around to find Dean blinking his way up to his face. It’s intensely flattering, until Dean gives him a sheepish smile and steps around to study his back again. Cas realizes what Dean’s looking for, and raises both arms out to the sides to give Dean the best possible view of what Dean must think of as his canvas. He glances over his shoulder and confirms what he’d thought. Dean’s studying him as if he can already see the massive invisible wings, just waiting for the light to break into colors across his skin. Cas feels suddenly self-conscious.

“Can you work with this?” he asks, resisting the bizarre urge to flap his arms like wings.

Dean clears his throat and then rests his hands on Cas’s shoulders, gently nudging his arms back down to his sides. “Yeah. Yeah, we can work with this.”

Cas turns around and smiles at Dean. “Then I can’t wait to get started.”

Dean beams at him, gives him another quick kiss, and then begins preparing him for the much smaller tattoo on his chest. Dean snaps on his gloves and explains everything he does, from cleaning his skin and shaving away the few hairs in the way to lining up the transfer and getting Cas’s approval on the placement before sitting him down in the chair and getting to work.

“Okay, here comes the part that’s gonna hurt,” Dean says, the needles poised just above Cas’s skin. “Let me know if you need a break. Otherwise I’ll be done in less than an hour, okay?”

Cas nods, wishing he had a better view of the spot where Dean will be working. Over the next few minutes, Dean has to nudge his chin out of the way several times before Cas explains. Dean chuckles and reaches to the shelf behind him, grabbing a hand mirror and giving it to Cas.

“There, now you can see without having to strain your neck, or getting in the way of my hand.”

Cas grunts an assent, glancing from the mirror held above him to Dean’s smiling face. “You should install mirrors on the ceiling above your chair.”

Dean snorts at that. “You wouldn’t believe how many people squeeze their eyes shut for this. Or just don’t wanna watch, even when I’m working on parts they can see without a mirror.”

Cas shrugs without thinking, feeling a tiny twinge in his shoulder as the motion nudges Dean’s hand where it’s resting on his chest. Dean only grins at him.

“Be careful you don’t do that while I’m tattooing, now,” Dean scolds, but the machine in his hand buzzes to life again and he gets back to work, focusing on the familiar black lines.

Half an hour later, after talking about Dean’s childhood love of art and fascination with tattoos, and the accident Cas witnessed as a young child that inspired him to study emergency medicine, Dean’s putting the finishing touches on his work. It’s only when he finally sets his machine down and sits back to look at the finished product that Cas remembers the mirror in his other hand. At some point, he’d decided it was far more interesting to study Dean’s face as he concentrated on his work and let the mirror drop to his lap. He holds it up again now to see the pink skin around the sharp black design. He frowns a little, overriding his instinct to reach for some burn cream. Dean’s already on it, gently rubbing soothing ointment into the irritated skin. Cas hisses through his teeth, and Dean chuckles.

“All that with the needles, and this is what makes you flinch?”

“It’s rather tender,” Cas argues. "And the ointment is cold."

Dean wipes his hands off on a paper towel and prepares a bandage, taping it down gently. “You’re gonna wanna leave that on for at least a few hours. You can shower in the morning, but be careful not to soap it up too rough. Don’t soak it in hot water for a few days, at least, and gently pat it dry. No rubbing. Keep it moisturized with something unscented until it starts healing--”

“I’m well aware of the proper care of an abrasion, Dean. We learned about that in medical school.”

Dean frowns at him, his brow pinching together. “Huh, yeah, right. I guess you would’ve. But you don’t wanna be too aggressive with the ointment. Don’t want the ink to come oozing back out, you know?”

Cas scrunches up his nose at that. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“So, doc, what do you think of your first tattoo?” Dean asks as he finishes tidying up his equipment and then strips off his gloves. “Now that you’re protected from evil, you think you’re game for another?”

Cas sits up, picking up his shirt and pulling it back on. He gives Dean a considering look and then nods. “Maybe once this one is healed.”

Dean laughs and rests his hand on Cas’s shoulder, opposite where his bandages are. “That sounds entirely reasonable. Pace yourself, man. I’ll just warn you now. Tattoos can be addictive.”

“Considering I have a finite surface area, I suppose I should take it slow, then.”

He stands up and draws Dean into another kiss, being careful not to bump his new tattoo as he pulls Dean into a hug and rests his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Thank you for this, Dean.”

Dean shrugs, and plants a kiss on Cas’s temple. “Trust me, it’s the least I could do for the guy who apparently pulled me outta hell.”

Cas sighs, breathing in Dean’s warm, woody scent. “I’m beginning to feel as if you pulled me down to earth.”

Dean begins to protest, but Cas shuts him up with a gentle nip to his collarbone that has Dean yelping in surprise. Cas raises an eyebrow and waits to see if Dean still feels like protesting. He’s ready for Dean’s objections when they come. He’s also ready when Dean tries to pull away, and only holds him tighter when he does.

“This is what I was afraid of, Cas.”

“Why?”

Dean rolls his eyes and tries to look away. Cas lets him, for now.

“You shouldn’t let anyone pull you down, man. I know how hard you worked to get where you are, basically giving up anything like a social life for years to succeed at what you wanted to do. And now here I am telling you my sob story about my hellish childhood, and now you’re content to settle for some slob who barely leaves this building and spends all his time drawing pictures on people.”

Cas blinks at him in shock, and Dean finally looks back at him again. “Are you really reducing yourself to that? Dean, you worked just as hard as I did, developed a skill that you excel at to a startling degree, as well as running your own successful business that keeps three other people gainfully employed. You’ve helped put your brother through college and law school. You’ve made a large group of friends that you consider family, and you care deeply for all of them. And you’re an artist who not only makes people happy every single day by sharing your talent with them, you create something that adds beauty and joy to the world.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, but it’s not like my art is ever gonna hang in a gallery.”

“Why not?” Cas asks. “Your art is all over this city. Probably all over the country. Perhaps even around the world. Walking around everywhere, on the gallery of humanity you’ve graced with your hands. What higher praise can an artist receive than people enjoying your work enough to make it a very literal part of themselves?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open, and he blinks at Cas, right up in his face and demanding an answer. “I guess I never thought of it that way…”

The corner of Cas’s mouth turns up and his shoulders relax again, loosening his grip on Dean, who no longer feels ready to bolt. He goes on, softer now. “I say you brought me down to earth, but I mean it in the best possible way, Dean. For so long I’ve put all my efforts into achieving a goal I set out for more than a decade ago. I threw myself into work, into study, into training, to the point where I’d lost myself, lost what makes me human. I feel as if I’ve spent my entire life feeling lonely and isolated in my own family, surrounded by people who never bothered to notice me from the moment I was born. But with you, I don’t feel quite so lonely anymore. I don’t feel trapped in the clouds, unable to reach out to anyone else.”

Cas feels Dean’s arms tighten around him and he sighs, leaning in to kiss him again before pulling back just far enough to whisper against his lips.

“If I hadn’t met you, I can’t even imagine how disconnected I’d have felt today. I’d probably have jumped in my sad, practical little car and driven aimlessly around town all afternoon until I ran out of gas, alone.”

“Good thing I talked you into getting the Mustang, then,” Dean replies softly, finally smiling again, but Cas keeps right on talking.

“I don’t know that I’d have been able to keep both feet on the ground or if I would’ve floated away completely. For the first time in my life, I actually feel connected. I spend my days surrounded by people who need to be saved, and I’m able to heal them and make them whole. It’s fulfilling, yes, but to feel like there might be a place where I belong just for myself, and not for what I can do for people? Now _ I _ feel whole. And that’s because of you, Dean. So don’t even think about attempting to devalue that.”

“God, Cas. Where did you even come from?” Dean asks, blown away by everything he’s just been told.

Cas smirks and gives a little shrug. “Heaven, apparently.”

Dean laughs at that and kisses him again, and Cas gives back everything Dean gives to him. After a few minutes, things are once again reaching a point of desperation, hands clawing at clothing as Dean stumblingly leads them toward the stairs without breaking their kiss. They’ve almost made it to the back door, and they’re so distracted they almost don’t hear Dean’s phone ringing in his pocket.

“You should probably answer that,” Cas mutters against his lips. “It could be important.”

Dean groans as if he’s been physically wounded by the reminder, but gives Cas one last kiss before pulling out his phone and answering it.

“Hey Pamela, what’s up?” He gives himself a moment to catch his breath while Pamela replies, and then puts it on speaker. “Yeah, Cas is right here.”

“Hello, Pamela,” Cas says.

“Hi yourself, hot stuff. Is Dean treating you right?”

Cas glances up at Dean, who’s looking extremely pleased with himself and trying very hard not to laugh. “Yeah, he’s keeping me entertained.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Pamela asks, and then gets right into the business of why she called. “So I’m down at the police station. I got a friend of mine to crack your phone open. Oh, by the way, Dean, Sam wanted me to tell you he’s going to stay at Rowena’s for a while. Give you two some space, since Cas probably won’t be going home tonight.”

Dean sputters at the sudden change in topic. “Wha… why would we need... What makes him think Cas won’t be going home?”

Cas is equally concerned, wondering if Sam somehow knew what would happen between them. He doesn’t think they were _ that _ obvious about their as-yet unexpressed feelings the last time Sam was there. He looks around the shop with a feeling of unease, wondering if Sam had somehow been watching them carrying on the way they were, but he doesn’t see any hidden cameras.

“Relax, Deano. It has nothing to do with the two of you knocking boots. It’s got to do with the case. Like I said, Charlie’s hacked Cas’s phone, and the GPS had been activated. We haven’t been able to locate Nick, so I think it’s safest for Cas to stay put until he needs to be at the hospital for his presentation tomorrow.”

“Wait, if Nick discovered my location, and this Charlie person turned my phone back on, won’t he know it’s in the hands of the police now?”

Pamela laughs. “Nah, Charlie’s too good for that, right Dean?”

“Yeah, she hacked NORAD once and didn’t get caught,” Dean tells him with a fond smile. “Nick doesn’t stand a chance.”

Cas blinks at that for a moment, not knowing what to do with this information and feeling a resurgence of wonder at the sort of people Dean has gleefully surrounded himself with. It’s like this entire new world has opened up and invited him in, welcoming him with warm, if borderline felonious, arms outstretched. He realizes he’s mindlessly staring at Dean, and remembers he’s got questions he feels really need answers. He clears his throat.

“What about my phone?” he asks. “When will it be safe for me to get that back? I’ll need it for work. And what if I’m called into the hospital for an emergency?”

“Relax, angel,” Pamela tells him. “One question at a time, and no reason to panic. Billie knows everything that’s going on. She’s taken you off the call rotation until after this is all cleared up. The only thing you have to worry about is showing up for your M&M at eleven. I’ll be at the hospital, too, along with a plainclothes detective just in case there’s any funny business. You won’t need your phone until after that. And Charlie’s working on fixing it so it’ll be perfectly safe again. No more GPS hacks.”

Cas sags with relief and Dean wraps an arm around his shoulders for support, but Pamela’s not finished yet.

“If it’ll make you feel better, we can change your number, too, but we’re leaving it as is for now in case Nick tries to contact you again.”

He doesn’t really want to know, but he supposes he needs to. Cas looks up at Dean, and asks, “Has he left any more messages?”

Pamela hesitates for a minute before deciding to answer. “He has. There’s one more voice mail from after you switched the phone off. Let’s just say that he believes he’s won, that he’s chased you off. He thinks you’ve run away.”

Cas laughs now, but it’s not a happy sound. “Then he’s in for an unpleasant awakening tomorrow.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Castiel,” Pamela says, and Cas can only imagine the predatory grin he can hear in her voice. “It’s incredible how much evidence Gabriel managed to compile on his own, but presenting it to the police along with the direct threat made against you has brought some additional irregularities to light. Unless Dr. Morningstar has some rock solid explanations for some of this, he’s not gonna be practicing medicine much longer.”

“That sounds ominous,” Dean says. “You find out he shot a man in Reno just to watch him die or something?”

“Or something,” Pamela replies, clearly not willing to elaborate over the phone.

Cas can’t do anything about whatever sinister evidence Pamela has unearthed while he’s been hiding away with Dean, so he asks the other important questions that have been concerning him. “I was told that Gabriel was with you. I assume he’s not going home any time soon, either?”

“Nah, he’s booked himself into the Four Seasons for the night. Said he needed an excuse to give himself a spa day anyway.”

Dean snorts at that. “I gotta meet this guy properly, I think.”

“Gonna compare notes on where to get the best hot rock massage in Palo Alto?” Pamela asks.

Dean opens his mouth, likely to say something rude about hot rocks or goad Pamela with some other witty repartee, but Cas has one more thing he needs to know.

“What about Kevin and Hannah? Are they both still under Nick’s roof?”

“Billie has been in contact with both of them. They’re fully aware of the situation. Hannah left the house about an hour ago, ostensibly to run errands, and Kevin had a scheduled shift at the hospital today. They’re both safely out of the house, and neither will be returning there tonight. That’s all you need to know.”

“Good,” is all Castiel can say to that. Everyone who was in immediate danger is safe, for now anyway. That’s all that matters, and Cas is done worrying about any of it. Dean’s arm tightens around his shoulders reassuringly, and he just needs to stop thinking about any of this for a little while. “If that’s all, then I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“One last thing, Cas,” Pamela says. “Billie asked that you not come in to the hospital through the emergency room. Take another route to the conference room. She said you’d know how to avoid your usual haunts. And show up as close to eleven as possible. You have an official hall pass from the principal if you’re a few minutes late. In fact, I’d recommend being fashionably late. Whatever you do, don’t give Nick a chance to corner you before the meeting starts.”

“I can do that,” Cas says.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure he’s not on time,” Dean replies with a leer.

Pamela chuckles at that. “You two have fun with that. See you tomorrow.”

“Will do,” Dean says, and then hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket again.

Cas only realizes it now that the conversation has ceased, that Dean’s been running his hand up and down his arm. It feels pleasant, soothing, and Cas lets himself enjoy it, closing his eyes and resting his head against Dean’s shoulder. He feels Dean’s chest rise and fall with a long, slow breath.

“So,” Dean says eventually, “We got a bunch of time to kill. You, uh, maybe got a favorite movie you wanna watch? Make some popcorn, have a couple beers, maybe order a pizza later?”

“Is that what you were planning to do with your evening?” Cas asks, twisting just enough to nose along Dean’s jaw.

Dean makes a pleasant rumbling sound that Cas feels vibrating through his chest. “When I was planning out my evening this morning, it involved a lot of hoping you might text me again. Otherwise I expected to sit at my desk drawing until I had to hit the hay.”

“Apologies, then, for interfering with that exciting plan, but as I currently don’t have my phone, I think texting is out of the question,” Cas replies, sliding his arm around Dean’s waist and turning his body into Dean’s. He looks up to see the hopeful arousal in Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna complain,” Dean replies. “I think I like this plan a lot more.”

“We could watch The Princess Bride,” Cas says, holding Dean closer and nosing at his chin before moving up to his lips. “I always find that film comforting.”

Dean smiles at that, and Cas feels it against his cheek. “So are you the Dread Pirate Roberts or Princess Buttercup in this situation?”

Cas thinks about that for a moment. “Both, I think.”

“What does that make me, then?” Dean asks.

“Both,” Cas replies, running his hand up Dean’s Hell-tattooed arm. “We both survived our own sort of torture and loneliness, we’ve both had adventures, and we’ve both been waiting a very long time not knowing the other was even alive.”

“Fair enough.” Dean clearly accepts his rationale, and kisses him soundly before pulling away rather suddenly. “Fuck, why are we still standing here?”

“Because you haven’t swept me off my feet and carried me up the stairs,” Cas replies, breathing a little hard.

Dean shakes his head and pulls Cas by the hand, leading him up the stairs. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve been mostly dead all day.”

Cas hums but follows. “I beg to differ, but I agree these stairs would’ve been treacherous to navigate with your arms full. Steep and narrow, a veritable Cliff of Insanity.”

The door to the apartment at the top is already open, so Dean tugs him inside and kicks it shut behind them. He turns to Cas and suddenly looks uncertain. “We can really just watch the movie if you want to. Sit on the couch, maybe make out a little.”

Cas looks at him like he’s lost his mind, then drags Dean to his bedroom by the hand he’s still holding and shuts the door behind them.

“Or we can do this,” Dean says as Cas presses him up against the door and plants a hungry kiss on him. Dean stops him before they get any further, but Cas picks up kissing and nuzzling his way along Dean’s jaw toward his ear. “I assume working at the hospital they make you get tested for stuff regularly?”

Cas pauses in kissing his way down Dean’s neck. “Of course, Dean. I am free of any infections.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, good. Same. I’m surrounded by blood and needles all day long, so, same. Just thought you should know. Just in case. Because I got lube, but I’m not sure about condoms. It’s, uh… it’s been a while. And I’ve never had sex without one.”

Cas pulls back and blinks up at him. “I’ve never done anything that would require a condom.”

Dean freezes in his arms. “Wait, what? You’re a virgin?”

Cas rolls his eyes and sighs. “My girlfriend through most of college was asexual. We did a lot of things together, but she was averse to the idea of penetrative sex. When she graduated and I stayed on for medical school, we split up. I haven’t really had the time nor inclination to find another romantic partner, and without that connection to someone, I find it difficult to feel any sort of sexual attraction, so it didn’t seem worth the bother to try.”

“Does that mean you’re attracted to me? You just met me,” Dean says, trying to understand what this means.

Cas shrugs. “I can’t explain it either. I can’t explain my handprint on your shoulder, or the connection I’ve felt to you since we met. Maybe some things are meant to be.”

Dean nods slowly. “Okay. As long as you’re sure about this.”

Cas grinds his hips against Dean’s to demonstrate exactly how sure he is, and Dean bites his lip and drops his head back to rest against the door with a thud at the feeling of Cas’s hard cock rubbing against his through their pants. He holds Cas tight, hands sliding from his hips and down his ass, urging him to do it again. Cas obliges, and then hisses in pain as his new tattoo bumps against Dean’s shoulder. Dean lets him go instantly, holding him by the shoulders now to force a few inches of distance between them so he can look Cas in the eyes.

“Careful, there. I think we’re gonna have to save the rough stuff for after that’s healed up.”

“We can do gentle,” Cas replies, sliding his hand up under Dean’s shirt and dragging his fingers up his side. “As long as we can do it naked. You have the advantage, since you’ve already seen me without my shirt on.”

Dean laughs at that and slowly pulls his t-shirt off, giving Cas a bit of a strip tease. Cas’s hands are already on him before he can pull it over his head and toss it across the room. He marvels at the collection of tattoos revealed, some images he recognizes and others he doesn’t. A huge flaming bird Cas assumes must be a phoenix winds around Dean’s ribs, opposite a cloaked figure holding a lantern along his other side. Almost hidden in a twisting tangle of vines and flowers connecting the larger pieces are more of the unusual symbols Dean had pointed out to him around the shop, meant for protection and safety and luck. Cas is torn between taking the time to study the artwork of Dean’s skin and licking him from head to toe. It’s probably best to leave decision making up to Dean.

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas asks, slowly kissing his way down Dean’s chest as Dean slumps back against the door with a groan.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m down for anything.”

He gasps when Cas licks over his nipple, and Cas takes that as a sign to continue, sucking it into a firm nub.

“Anything? You don’t have a preference?”

“I’d prefer it if we lost our pants,” Dean says, his voice pitching higher as Cas gently grazes his teeth over his hard nipple and then steps back to remove his shirt, taking care not to disrupt the bandage on his chest.

“That’s easy enough,” Cas replies, his hands already moving toward Dean’s belt buckle. “And after that?”

Dean bats his fumbling hands away and makes quick work of the button and zipper while pushing off his boots with his feet. “After that? It’s up to you, Cas. Whatever you want. I just want you to enjoy it.”

Cas watches him for a moment, and then kicks off his own shoes and slowly removes his jeans. “I’m already enjoying this, Dean.”

“Good,” Dean says, swallowing hard and dropping his pants, kicking them out of his way and stepping into Cas’s space, nudging him backward toward the bed with his hands on his hips.

The backs of Cas’s legs bump up against the edge of the mattress, and he sits down and shimmies out of the rest of his clothes, sliding up the bed out of Dean’s grasp with what he hopes is a seductive look. Dean clearly finds it enticing, his breath hitching as he takes in the view of Cas sprawled out naked on his bed and cups his erection through his boxers. He strips off his boxers and slowly crawls up after him, straddling his body and holding his gaze like their lives depend on it. He stops along the way to run his hands over Cas’s thighs, kissing and nipping his way across Cas’s hipbones, before spending a few moments delivering his attention to Cas’s chest and shoulders in a completely different way than he had down in the shop before.

“God, all I wanted to do downstairs was get my hands on you,” Dean says, carefully avoiding the bandage as he kisses across Cas’s collarbone.

“You had your hands on me for an hour, Dean,” Cas replies, voice gone breathy with pleasure.

“Yeah, but not like this,” Dean replies, running his hands down Cas’s sides and back up again.

Cas arches his back and moans, hips rocking up in search of Dean’s body, which is still frustratingly far away. “Hnnng, Dean, please just come down here.”

Dean grins, apparently delighted by Cas’s impatience. But he proves equally impatient and accedes to Cas’s wishes, letting himself settle down gently atop him, propping himself on his elbow to avoid hurting the tender tattoo, but grinding their hips together. Below him, Cas lets out a low hissing sound that has nothing to do with pain, rocking his hips up to enjoy the slow drag of his cock alongside Dean’s.

“God, Cas, this is crazy, right?” He looks down into Cas’s eyes, and Cas reaches up, running his hands down Dean’s sides to the back of his thighs. Dean groans, driving his hips forward and diving into another kiss that quickly turns frantic and breathless as they writhe together. Dean reaches down between them, lifting enough to get a hand around both of them. Cas whines at the momentary loss of friction but then practically growls at the aching drag as they move together in Dean’s fist. Cas’s hands find their way up Dean’s body, holding on for dear life as Dean takes him apart one kiss at a time with a steady roll of their bodies..

“Mmmm, wait,” Cas says, tugging at Dean’s hair. “Wait, I’m getting too close. I think I want you inside me for this.”

Dean stops moving. “You think? We don’t gotta do anything you’re not sure about.”

Cas looks off to the side for a moment, and then back at Dean, taking a deep breath. “I’m sure. It’s something Daphne would occasionally indulge me with, and I want that with you, Dean.”

Dean nods slowly. “Sure you don’t wanna try it the other way around? Since you’ve never--”

Cas surges up and cuts him off with a kiss. “Next time.”

“Okay, then,” Dean replies, slowly pushing himself up and reaching out for the nightstand drawer. He rummages inside for a minute and comes back with a bottle of lube and a couple of condoms. He examines the packets for the expiration date and groans, tossing them over his shoulder. “Expired about six months ago, and that’s just fucking depressing.”

“I disagree,” Cas says, pulling him down for another kiss. “I’m feeling the opposite of depressed. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this much of anything.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that. “Well you’re about to feel a whole lot more of it.” He slowly kisses his way down Cas’s body, licking over a nipple as he passes before sliding back and kneeling between Cas’s legs. He sits back on his heels for a moment, just looking at Cas spread out in front of him, rubbing his thumbs over Cas’s hips. “I promise we’ll get there, but first…” he trails off, bending down over Cas’s cock and licking his lips as it twitches in anticipation. Dean licks a stripe up the length of it, pressing Cas’s hips down as his eyes roll up in his head and he tries to thrust upward.

“Dean,” he gasps, staring wide-eyed down at his grinning face as Dean swallows him down.

Cas moans and grasps at the blankets, and then at Dean’s shoulders as he sucks him deeper, doing things with his tongue that Cas has never even imagined. Dean’s pace slows after a few minutes and Cas hears him open the bottle of lube. He spreads his legs wider, planting his feet on the bed as Dean slides lower, slick fingers slowly pressing for entrance. Dean works him open, reveling in Cas’s every reaction. He finds Cas’s prostate and laughs low and dark at the wail of pleasure Cas makes.

Cas half expects Dean to ask him to turn over, or to move to a better position when he pulls his fingers out, but he just reaches for the lube again, slicking up his cock before lifting Cas’s legs, pushing them apart, and lining himself up.

“Ready?” Dean asks, eyes blown black with lust.

“Yes, Dean, please,” he manages to say before Dean’s slowly pushing inside.

He bottoms out and gives them both a moment to adjust before Cas is wrapping his legs around Dean and spurring him on. Before he moves, Dean leans down and kisses him thoroughly, backing off just enough to stare into his eyes as he slowly pulls out and slides back in. Dean keeps that painfully slow pace until Cas is clawing at his back, digging his fingertips into the matching image tattooed on Dean’s shoulder. He almost loses it right there.

“Cas, I gotta…”

Cas nods, and Dean dives in to kiss him, balancing himself on his elbow so he can reach between them and stroke Cas off as he drives into Cas’s body over and over again. Cas’s hand joins his, and only a moment later he’s crying out and coming between them. Dean only thrusts once more before coming deep inside Cas with a shout.

Cas opens his eyes and blinks up at him, a slow, wondrous smile growing on his face. Dean can’t help but smile back, leaning in to kiss him tenderly as a shiver runs through his body.

“Was that okay?” Cas asks, and Dean chokes on a laugh, resting his forehead down on Cas’s unbandaged shoulder before looking back up and kissing him again.

“Fuck that was goddamned fantastic, Cas. But, uh,” Dean tries to reach for a box of tissues on the nightstand, but only manages to knock it to the floor as he slides out of Cas. He slumps down against Cas’s side. “Shit. Hang on.”

He leans over the side of the bed and retrieves the tissues, pulling several out and carefully wiping Cas clean, and then himself. He tosses the tissues over the side of the bed, and then shifts them around enough to pull the blankets up over them and snuggles down at Cas’s side, wrapping an arm around him and holding him tight.

“Is it okay if we just stay here for a bit?” Dean asks. “We can shower later. I just don’t wanna move yet.”

Cas rolls onto his side, facing Dean, and hooks one leg between Dean’s, pulling him even closer. “Neither do I.”


	10. Chapter 10

It’s over an hour later before Dean wakes up again. He feels a strange tickle against his chin as Cas shifts against him, and he can’t help the impulse to hug him tight. He’s rewarded with Cas nuzzling into his neck, making happy little noises as he wakes up with a yawn.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. You have a nice rest? Feeling more relaxed now?”

“Yes, this has definitely been preferable to running out of gas somewhere out in the desert.”

“Weirdo,” Dean says, and then drops a kiss on his forehead. “I think it’s been long enough you can probably shower if you want.”

Cas leans back and looks at him funny and then remembers. “Oh, my tattoo.”

Dean nods, running his fingers through Cas’s completely disheveled hair. “Yeah. Just not too hot, and not for too long. And no scrubbing. There’s a tube of Aquaphor in the medicine cabinet, too.”

Cas sits up, nodding. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me to make sure I’m doing everything correctly?”

Dean reaches up, grinning, and pulls Cas down by the back of his neck into another kiss. “I thought they taught you this shit in medical school.”

Cas shrugs, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Then we can think of this as important continuing education.”

Dean just shakes his head, marveling at what he’s gotten himself into with Cas. “Well, then, it’s gonna be a couple weeks before that’s healed up enough for us to get to the advanced class.”

“Advanced class?” Cas asks, sitting up again and sliding out of bed before Dean can drag him back under the blankets.

Dean sighs at the loss of his warmth but resigns himself to getting up and following Cas to the bathroom. “Yeah, shower sex is complicated.”

Cas laughs. “I don’t see how.”

Dean slides past Cas, kissing the back of his neck before reaching into the stall to turn the water on and then returning to hug Cas from behind. He watches Cas’s reflection in the mirror as he leans over the sink to carefully peel back the edge of the bandage and pull it slowly away from his skin. Cas hisses as the tape tugs at his tender skin.

“You want me to do that for you, Doc?”

Cas is unruffled, his attention never wavering from his task. “I had to give myself nine stitches once. I believe I can handle a common bandage removal.”

“Why the fuck did you have to give yourself stitches?”

Cas peels the rest of the bandage off and studies the dark, sharp lines of his tattoo still mostly obscured beneath a smear of goopy ointment. “My first lab partner in medical school accidentally stabbed me with a scalpel,” he says, leaning back to point out the barely visible white line of a scar on his side. “I wasn’t about to let that clumsy oaf stitch me up after that, so I did it myself. The professor was impressed with my tenacity. My lab partner didn’t fare quite as well. I believe he’s a mortician somewhere in Iowa now, or Idaho. Maybe Indiana.”

It’s barely a scratch, faded after years into something he may not have even noticed had Cas not pointed it out, but Dean is idiotically compelled to bend down and kiss it better. He feels a little silly about it until he stands back up and sees the soft, fond look Cas is giving him him.

“Thank you, Dean. It feels much better now.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t kiss that until it’s healed a bit,” he says, pointing at the tattoo to avoid looking at the blush he can feel burning across his own cheeks in the mirror. “You like it, though?”

Cas nods, touching his fingertips all around the edges of his tattoo like he can’t really believe it’s there. “I do, yes. Very much.”

“Good,” Dean says, steering Cas away from the mirror and into the shower. He adjusts the temperature a bit cooler and reaches for the soap as Cas groans.

“It’s cold,” he says, stepping out of the spray the moment he’s let it wet his skin, leaving Dean to shuffle around under the cool water.

“The sacrifices we make for art,” he says, holding a soapy hand up and waiting for Cas to give his permission.

“I think I should probably do that myself,” Cas says, frowning at Dean’s hand. “It’s technically an open wound.”

“My hand’s just as clean as yours is, Cas, and I had my dick in your ass an hour ago. It’s a little late to be getting all precious about bodily fluids.”

Cas gives him a strange look, but eventually relents. When he nods, Dean warns him, “This might sting a bit.”

He doesn’t stop with cleaning the tattoo, but continues soaping up Cas’s entire body. “I’d take my time with this, but you really should get that dry.”

“I suppose we should add that to our syllabus for next time, then,” Cas says, pulling Dean against him by the hips and reminding him that they’re both finding this far too exciting. Feeling Cas aroused from Dean perfunctorily soaping him up, running slippery hands over his whole body, is more than enough to tempt Dean into things they definitely should not be doing under the running water.

Dean nods, resisting the urge to rut against Cas’s slick, soapy skin and handing Cas a bottle of shampoo. “Here. Keep your hands busy for a minute before I end up with my face pressed against the tiles begging you to fuck me.”

Cas’s eyes go wide at that, but he nods and takes the bottle. They finish their shower quickly after that, and Dean carefully pats Cas’s tattoo dry with a big fluffy towel before tossing it over Cas’s head and rubbing his hair roughly dry. When Cas pulls it off his head, pouting at Dean, Dean just grins at him and leans in to kiss the pout away.

“You look so hot right now,” Dean tells him, wrapping his own towel around his waist, which does nothing to hide his persistent erection. “Here, we gotta take care of you first,” he says, opening the tube of ointment and carefully squeezing out a tiny portion. Cas lets him apply the cream, gently rubbing it in until it’s been absorbed.

“You’re very good at this, Dean,” Cas tells him, admiring the tattoo now that the redness has faded and the gooey residue has been washed away.

Dean shrugs, looking away. “It’s my job, Cas.”

Cas shakes his head, grabbing Dean by the wrist before he can walk out of the bathroom. Dean looks up at him, surprised.

“No, you’re very good at caring for people. I saw it in the hospital with your brother, and thought it was just because he’s your brother. But you were the same way with Celia earlier, if a more professional version of it. You genuinely _ care _for people. It’s something they can’t teach in medical school, but I know a fair few doctors who could stand to take classes from you.”

Dean tries to brush off the compliment with a leer, pulling Cas in by the hips. “You’re the only one I’m giving lessons to, Cas. It’s a pretty small classroom,” he says with a glance around the bathroom.

“Good,” Cas replies, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. “I appreciate your hands-on teaching method.”

Dean gives him another demonstration that leaves the mirror nearly as steamed up as their not-hot-enough shower did, and then pulls him back into the bedroom. He fishes out a couple pairs of flannel pajama pants and his oldest, softest t-shirt from his dresser. Dean tosses one pair of pants to Cas, who catches them and raises an eyebrow at Dean. Dean just shrugs at him.

“We gotta eat, and I can’t have you hanging around the house in just a towel. What would Sammy say if he came home to that?”

“I do have clothes, Dean. I didn’t show up here naked, you know,” Cas says, but he drops his towel and pulls on the soft cotton pants anyway.

“Yeah, but if you’re gonna be spending the night, you’re gonna need jammies anyway.”

“Will I?” Cas asks, and Dean nearly drops the shirt he’s still holding.

“Well, you will if you’re gonna leave this room for anything. You can leave off the shirt if you don’t want it rubbing against your tattoo. It might bleed out a little ink, and it can stain. You can wear this if you don’t wanna wreck your shirt,” he adds, holding out the shirt in his hand to Cas.

He takes it, smiling at Dean as he carefully pulls it on. “I just like the idea of wearing your clothes.”

“Heh, good,” Dean says. “Because unless you plan on wearing your ratty jeans and a t-shirt to your thing tomorrow, I think you’re gonna be stuck wearing my clothes.”

Cas’s eyes go wide, only now realizing what that would look like.

“Don’t worry, I do own a suit or two, and you’re about my size,” Dean says, opening his closet and showing Cas. “I don’t just own flannel shirts.”

Cas looks into the closet, where there’s a surprising number of suits and dress shirts hanging at one end of the rack. He pulls out a dark blue suit and holds it up to his chest, and Dean nods approvingly, pulling out a light blue dress shirt and a dark green tie with matching light blue stripes.

“Good choice. I got that one last year for my friend Charlie’s wedding.”

“The one who has my phone?”

“That’s her.”

“You didn’t strike me as the suit wearing type,” Cas says, hanging it back up at the end of the rack beside the shirt and tie Dean picked for him.

Dean shrugs. “When the queen orders you to get a new suit, you do.”

Cas’s eyebrows pinch together, and Dean laughs. “I’ll explain over dinner.”

“Okay, but you have half a dozen very nice suits. Don’t tell me Charlie ordered you to buy all of them.”

“Is it a crime to look nice once in a while?”

“I suppose not,” Cas says.

“Good, because you ain’t even seen the cosplay shit yet,” Dean says shutting the closet behind him and redirecting Cas’s attention from it with a smirk. “So what do you feel like eating?”

Dean orders pizza with actual vegetables on it at Cas’s insistence. _ I’m a doctor, Dean, it would be irresponsible for me to approve of you ordering something called a ‘meatblaster’ in good conscience_. Dean grumbles and Tony the pizza guy laughs at him, but after their usual haggling about Tony’s tip, Dean and Cas settle in happily to watch the Princess Bride. When eleven o’clock comes and goes and Cas is curled up at his side beginning to nod off, Dean checks his phone, wondering if Sam really is staying away for the whole night. There’s a handful of texts from Sam from hours earlier when they’d been dozing in Dean’s bed. He feels a little guilty that he hadn’t even thought to check his phone after everything that’s been happening, but he’s checking now.

_ >>Everything okay there? I’m at Rowena’s. We’re gonna get dinner so you guys are on your own. _

Half an hour later, there’s a follow up.

_ >>Guess you’re either sleeping or doing stuff I don’t wanna know about. Just let me know everything’s okay_.

_ >>We drove by the shop and your cars are both there, so we’re assuming you’re either ignoring us or too busy to check your damn phone. _

_ >>Okay, so I ran up to my room to get a change of clothes for tomorrow. Thanks for at least shutting your door. I’ll be at Rowena’s, but I’ll be back in the morning. Please keep that in mind and try not to traumatize me. Thanks. _

Dean laughs at that, and sends a reply.

_ <<Sorry about that. Got distracted enough to forget phones exist for a while. Maybe you’ll get that lucky tonight. Have fun with Red. _

He turns off the television, which had been playing reruns of some old show about ghost hunters that Cas had insisted he finds calming, and gently nudges Cas. “Hey, babe, come on to bed. You got a big day tomorrow and you need to get your rest.”

Cas sighs and rolls his head up to frown at Dean. “I was enjoying not moving. You’re very comfortable.”

Dean chuckles and slides out from under Cas. “You can keep not moving all you want after we’re in bed.”

“That sounds agreeable,” Cas says, and heaves himself up off the sofa, pulling Dean into a hug. “Thank you for today.”

“Any time, Cas. For you? Any time.”

He kisses the bit of Cas’s neck he can reach with Cas octopussed around him, and then finally manages to get him moving toward the bedroom. Luckily he has a spare toothbrush for Cas, and after another careful application of ointment and his professional assessment that Cas’s tattoo is healing beautifully, they strip down at Cas’s insistence and climb into bed. Dean falls asleep feeling happy and at peace for maybe the first time in his entire life, holding Cas and being held in turn. He has a fucking fantastic night’s sleep.

Dean wakes up to the entirely pleasant feeling of Cas’s mouth sucking gently on his collarbone, and his hand running up and down his spine. Even more welcome, Cas is slowly rutting against his thigh. Dean moans and moves his leg, giving Cas room to slide in against him, getting his money’s worth for his morning wood.

“Morning, sunshine,” he rumbles out, drawing a sigh from Cas as he leans in for a kiss. Dean breaks away only long enough to check the clock. “We still got four hours before you need to be anywhere, but I gotta go down and open the shop in three. How are we gonna fill all that time?” he asks, with a firm roll of his hips.

“I have a list,” Cas replies, nudging Dean’s shoulder until he rolls over onto his back and then straddling his hips. He leans down and whispers in Dean’s ear. “It’s a very long list.”

Dean frowns at him seriously. “Well, then we better get to work on that.”

Cas takes his list very seriously, meticulously exploring every inch of Dean’s body with his hands and mouth, leaving Dean to lie there and take it. He asks about Dean’s tattoos, the ones he already has and the ones that will eventually fill the blank spots on the canvas of Dean’s skin. Dean’s never felt so fully examined and so fully understood by anyone in his life. If it had been anyone else, he would recoil from that level of intimacy and vulnerability, but this is Cas, his angel, and he feels inexplicably, unquestioningly safe in Cas’s hands. When Cas reaches out and snatches the lube from the nightstand, Dean just nods and spreads his legs, eagerly inviting Cas in.

Cas continues at the glacial pace he’s set for their morning. Nothing is rushed, and by the time Cas has him ready, Dean feels like his entire body is one raw, exposed nerve singing out with every touch.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he says, gently moving Cas where he wants him and straddles his hips. “My turn to do a little of the work for you.”

Dean finds the lube again, squeezes a bit into his hand, and then keeping to Cas’s favored slow pace wraps his hand around Cas’s cock. He gives it a few lazy strokes and then lines himself up, staring into Cas’s eyes as he slowly sinks down. Cas bites his lip, sucking in a huge breath before letting it out in a slow moan as Dean seats himself fully, letting him savor the feeling of being enveloped in that tight heat. When he can’t stand it any longer, Dean slowly begins to move. Cas takes the slow rhythm, hands gripping Dean’s thighs nearly to the point of leaving bruises, longer than Dean would’ve believed was possible before finally giving in with a groan and thrusting up into him while dragging him down into a rough kiss.

Cas releases him only enough to get his hand around Dean’s cock. Dean gets the message, and takes over jerking himself off in time with Cas’s frantic and increasingly erratic pace. He leans back just enough that every roll of Cas’s hips beneath him delivers a direct hit to his prostate. Between that and the look of abject hunger in Cas’s eyes, Dean’s release is ripped from his body moments before Cas stiffens beneath him, burying himself as deep inside Dean as he can and coming with a cry of Dean’s name.

“Well, that’s a good way to wake up,” Dean says eventually, when they’ve begun to catch their breath. “I think I like this list of yours.”

Cas lets out a low hum of contentment, and is back to doing things the slow and lazy way. He slowly runs his hands up Dean’s arms, resting his hand on Dean’s handprint.

“I think I like _ you _,” Cas replies with a sated smile.

Dean isn’t entirely sure how to answer that, so he answers with a kiss. He absolutely knows he likes Cas, no doubt about it. It’s not even a question. What maybe scares him just a little bit is the fact he’s pretty sure what he’s feeling is a hell of a lot more than that.

Eventually Dean drags Cas back to the shower in what already feels like a comfortable routine. After insisting that Cas at least put on some pants before wandering out to the kitchen, and kinda hating himself for pushing the issue, they head out to make coffee and breakfast. They’re just finishing up their pancakes when the back door to the shop opens and closes, and Sam loudly announces his imminent entry.

“Dean, I’m home, and I’m on my way upstairs,” he says redundantly, making as much noise as possible and stomping on every stair along the way like it had personally wronged him. “You better be wearing pants.”

Dean looks over at Cas with an I-told-you-so raised eyebrow, and Cas replies with a look of fond exasperation before mopping up the last of the syrup on his plate with his remaining pancake and shoving it in his mouth. Dean collects his plate and sets it in the sink with his own, giving Sam a few more minutes to enjoy his little existential crisis out on the stairs before putting him out of his misery.

“Yes, Samantha, we’re wearing pants. Your virtue will remain unsullied.”

The door to the apartment opens and Sam heaves a sigh of relief as he wanders into the kitchen. He sees Dean and Cas, dressed in nothing but pajama pants and looking entirely at ease with that fact, and makes a noise of disgust, rolling his eyes and giving Dean a disgruntled frown. He does notice Cas’s new tattoo, and tacks on a curiously raised eyebrow to the fading disgruntlement.

“What,” Dean says, knowing exactly what Sam’s look is about and needing Sam to let it go for now. “You only asked if we were wearing pants. We are.”

“Yeah, you’re _ only _wearing pants.” Sam shakes his head, still looking ready to make a comment about Cas’s choice of tattoos, but thankfully he either notices Dean’s rising panic or he’s just too tired to push it right then. “Whatever. I just wanted to make sure I got to see you before you left. We, uh, had kind of a breakthrough last night.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Dean asks, leering at his brother.

“What?” Sam asks, and then scoffs. “Dean, drag your mind outta the gutter for just a few minutes, will you?” He turns his full attention to Cas, pretending Dean doesn’t exist. “I meant we had a breakthrough in the case. Your case. Rowena and I were up all night following up on some research for Pamela, and you’re in for a treat.”

Cas tilts his head and squints at Sam curiously, while behind him Dean throws his hands up and mutters laments about Sam’s inability to get laid. “What sort of treat am I in for?”

Sam grins, continuing to ignore Dean. “I’m not gonna spoil the surprise.” He finally relents and addresses Dean again. “I guess you’re going with him, right?”

“Well, duh,” Dean replies.

Sam nods approvingly, while Cas looks confused. “You don’t need to do that, Dean. I’m sure Pamela will bring me back after the meeting. I know you have your shop to run.”

Dean gives him a look like Cas is being incredibly thick. “Like I’m gonna make you go in there alone. Fuck that. I can take some time off. It’s one of the perks of running my own shop. The boss is really generous with leave.”

“Jody and Donna will be fine on their own for a day,” Sam assures Cas. “Pamela expects Dean to be there anyway.” Again he turns to Dean and gives him a significant look. “She’s bringing Benny along with her.”

Dean understands immediately what Sam’s trying to tell him without spoiling the surprise for Cas. His face journey nearly blows the whole deal, but he manages to get himself under control before Cas turns his perplexed face to him. Dean just smiles reassuringly.

“Benny’s a buddy of mine. Trust me, it’s no trouble sitting and keeping him company while you’re busy doing your thing in there. And I’ll be right outside waiting for you, okay?” Dean gives Cas’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and Cas practically melts at the touch.

Sam makes a disgusted noise and turns his back, heading toward his room. “If it’s okay with you guys, I’m gonna crash. I got maybe a two hour nap on Rowena’s couch and I need sleep now.”

“What, she didn’t offer to share her bed?” Dean asks, teasing Sam as he disappears behind his door.

Sam opens his door again enough to stick his head out. “We’re going on a celebratory date tomorrow night when we’re both recovered enough to actually function again. Until then, try and keep any celebratory activity of your own to a dull roar, okay?” And then he slams his door again.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean picks out another suit to wear himself before helping Cas straighten his tie.

“You don’t need to dress up for this, Dean,” Cas says as Dean steps back and gives him an approving once-over.

Cas looks almost too good in his suit, and he clears his throat and forces himself to think about what they’re getting ready for. It’s about as big a mood killer as he could’ve hoped for. He pastes on a smile and shrugs.

“Any excuse to get dressed up, I’m on it. Plus, Benny will be in a suit, and I’d rather not spend an hour sitting with him in some hallway looking like a slob in comparison. I got an image to uphold.”

Cas gives him an unrelenting stare, clearly knowing full well that Dean’s holding something back. Dean gives him a genuine smile and leans in for a kiss.

“You look hot. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead, okay?”

“If you insist, Dean,” Cas replies, giving himself a pleased glance in the mirror anyway.

“Right, then. I gotta open up the shop. The girls’ll be here any minute. You comin’ with?”

Dean doesn’t stand around waiting for an answer, but goes about the rest of his usual morning routine with Cas in tow. He fills up his coffee mug, and does the same for Cas. The two of them head down to the shop just as Jody, Donna, and Claire come through the back door. Donna gives them a look of surprise, but quickly walks over to Cas and gives him a warm hug.

“Well, you must be the famous Dr. Cas we’ve been hearing so much about. I’m Donna, this is Jody, and the ray of sunshine bringing up the rear is our daughter Claire. So we hear congrats are in order.”

Dean shoots Jody a confused glance, mouthing _ you heard so much about him already? _ Jody grins at him as she walks past him to shake Cas’s hand, answering Dean’s question as she does.

“Pamela called us last night and gave us the heads up. She said you were gonna be out of the shop for a while this morning, and to try not to be too upset about the fact you forgot to let us know. She seemed to think you were busy last night, and that it would likely slip your mind, for a very good reason.”

Donna gives an approving nod, standing back to take in the pair of them dressed to the nines, before leaning in and commenting not particularly confidentially to Jody. “I can see why he’d’a been distracted.”

Jody nods in agreement. “You got me there.” She breaks into a grin and then heads over to her station as Claire walks past with a smirk and pats Dean on the arm.

“Nice job, Hasslehoff.”

Dean turns to find Cas as thrown off by the strangely warm welcome as he feels. It’s all just a bit overwhelming, but he’s grateful to Pamela for taking care of everything for him. He tries to reassure Cas that this is all a normal sort of thing that happens when you’re friends with someone like Pamela. He’s not sure if he’ll ever really reach a point where the unexpected stops happening, but at least he’s used to expecting the unexpected now, which puts him a little ahead of Cas in the recovery department.

The shop opens, and a trickle of customers come in before Dean and Cas have to leave for the hospital. The hour they spend hanging out does wonders for Dean’s nerves, and even Cas seems calmer after being regaled with tales of some of the more unusual phone calls they’ve all received from Pamela over the years.

Dean parks in the lot Cas directs him to, and he waits in the car with Cas, just holding his hand, until Cas is ready to go inside. They enter the hospital through an administrative building and find Benny stationed just inside the door, already waiting for them.

“Dean, it’s good to see you, brother,” Benny says, grabbing Dean up into a quick hug and patting him on the back.

“You too, Benny. This is Cas,” he says, as Benny holds out a hand to him.

Cas shakes it before checking the time and confirming the M&M panel should’ve begun already, “Where’s Pamela? Is she here yet?”

Benny nods solemnly, and then turns to lead them to the conference room. “Been here an hour already. We met with Billie and everything’s ready to go. You just need to go in there and answer their questions honestly. The rest’ll fall into place. Don’t you worry about a thing. This’ll all be over before lunch.”

Benny turns to Cas as they reach the conference room, pulling the door open and ushering Cas inside with a positively predatory grin. Dean holds Cas back just long enough to plant a kiss on his cheek and whisper _ kick it in the ass _ in his ear before he disappears inside. When the door clicks shut, Dean turns to Benny like he’s been waiting a year to ask him what’s really going on. Benny laughs and leads him over to a bench a little ways down the hall.

“I already know what you’re gonna ask, and I’m happy to say Pamela wants me to tell you everything.”

Dean slumps down beside him with a sigh. “Well, that’s a fucking relief.”

“Don’t you worry, cher, your boy’s gonna be fine in there,” Benny tells him. “I’d venture to say his boss ain’t gonna fare quite so well.”

Dean grunts. “Yeah, that’s what I figured when Sam told me you’d be here. Didn’t figure they’d call in a homicide detective just to keep me company for an hour.”

Benny gives a smile that would’ve terrified anyone who doesn’t actually know what a teddy bear he really is, and Dean laughs. “You got that right.” He leans forward and points down the hall, drawing Dean’s attention to someone else, and gives a little wave as Gabriel nods back with an impish grin and slips inside the conference room. “It’s mostly down to Dr. Milton, there. After Dr. Morningstar left those incriminating messages on your boy’s phone, Pamela brought me a stack of notes he’s been keeping for the last few years. It merited a bit more looking into.”

“What, you find some proof Nick actually murdered this patient in surgery?” Dean asks.

“Aw, hell, no. We think that was entirely unintentional. Negligent and reckless, but unintentional. But it gave us probable cause to keep digging. And we struck oil, as it were.”

“You found the buried bodies?”

Benny nods, and then shakes his head. “There was a lot that wasn’t adding up if the pattern Gabriel hit on was just about a power trip at work, playing god with people’s lives. His notes only covered half the story, the stuff he saw go down at the hospital. Turns out Nick had a whole other life outside the hospital, and a lot of the incidents in Gabriel’s notes connected those dots for us, nice and tidy.”

Dean nods, glancing back at the conference room door and wishing it had a window so he could check on Cas. “He told me something about Nick making a hobby of getting people fired.”

“More than that, brother. He enjoyed _ destroying _people,” Benny says, dropping his voice. “He’d taken in a new crop of residents every year, rent them rooms in his house, like your boy in there, and he’d pick a favorite. Mess with their mind, gaslight ‘em until they practically drove themselves off the rails.”

Dean sucks in a shocked breath at that. “And that’s what he was doin’ to Cas?”

“Nah,” Benny assures him. “Like I said, that was a mistake. Whatever reason, he never targeted Dr. Novak. Got more than his fair share of other people in trouble at the hospital-- doctors, nurses, couple’a janitors, some poor woman from the HR department last year. Some of ‘em quit, some of ‘em ended up fired, and a few… well there’s a few that just seemed to disappear altogether.”

“Disappear? Why do I think that’s where you come in?”

“Because you’re a smart cookie, Dean,” Benny says with a laugh. “Gabriel kept lists of people he suspected Nick had targeted, and tried to keep in touch with the ones who left or got fired. He did a damn good job of tracking people down, for someone doing it as an idle hobby. Even found a few that had changed their names tryin’ to keep their past from following them. But there’s a handful he couldn’t find anywhere.”

“But I’m guessing you found ‘em?” Dean asks, giving the door an uneasy glare and really, _ really _ wishing he could see into the room. The idea of Cas being trapped in there with this guy is turning his stomach. “Bunch of John Does or something?”

“Not anymore,” Benny says grimly. “Let’s just say that between Gabriel’s list and Billie’s personnel files, we’re well on our way to closing half a dozen cold cases.”

“And you got enough to arrest him today?” Dean asks, trying not to let his fear for Cas run away with him. “He’s not gonna be back on the street by sundown and back and work in the morning?”

“He don’t know it yet, but Billie’s already withdrawn all his privileges here, and started the process to revoke his license to practice medicine. You’d have to ask her how that works, but she was throwing around words like _ gross incompetence _ and _ malicious negligence _. And that’s on top of the kidnapping and murder charges I got him on.” Benny grins, patting his pocket where Dean assumes the arrest warrant is waiting to be executed. “Did Cas happen to mention his old housemate, Vince?”

Dean’s eyes go wide. “Uh, he said Nick drove the guy into a bottle. He the one that vanished a few months back?”

“Not so much vanished,” Benny says. “His body was found behind a nightclub about thirty miles from here about two weeks after Vince disappeared from Nick’s. They couldn’t ID him, and from the looks of the body, the local authorities were worried it was some sort of flesh-eating bacteria outbreak. When that theory didn’t pan out, they floated the idea that it was some freak dumping acid on people. Whatever Nick did to him, it left him… let’s just call it _ unrecognizable _ and leave it at that.”

Dean swallows hard, a cold shiver running down his spine. “Uh, good call.”

Benny nods reassuringly and turns the conversation to less unsavory topics. “Problem was, the locals who found the body couldn’t find the primary crime scene. They were looking in all the wrong places. A quick look through Nick’s property holdings led us to a cabin out toward Big Basin. I’m waiting to hear back what they find, but the lab rats are searching the place right now.”

Dean lets that all sink in, and Benny gives him a few minutes of easy quiet. He gets up and paces the hall for a bit, eventually working up the nerve to press an ear to the heavy wooden door. He can’t hear anything beyond indistinct voices and gives up pretty quickly. After giving that up as a lost cause, he drags himself back to the bench and slumps down beside Benny.

“So, how’s the family?” Dean asks, and Benny gives him a smirk, knowing Dean’s just trying to change the subject and keep himself distracted from running through worst case scenarios of what might be going down on the other side of that door, but indulging him anyway.

“Andrea thinks it’s been too long since you’ve been over for dinner. She’s gonna be doubly convinced of that when she hears you’re not a single man anymore. You both should expect an invitation here shortly.”

“As if I’d ever turn Andrea down,” Dean says with a scoff. “She’s not pissed at you for getting called into work on a Sunday, is she?”

“Nah,” Benny says easily. “After Pamela called me yesterday and told me it was for your new beau, Andrea practically shoved me out the door.”

Dean practically chokes at that casual assessment of his relationship with Cas. “She told you _ what_?”

Benny nods calmly, a twinkle in his eye. “She said she saw big things for the two of you, even if you hadn’t figured that out yet. Since he’s wearing your suit in there right now, I just assumed Pamela had been right.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the wall opposite them, “with Pamela it’s a pretty safe bet.”

“Aw, are you mad she went telling folks already?” Benny asks, slightly teasing, bumping his shoulder against Dean’s. “Just a heads up, I think the only other person she tattled to was Charlie, so you might be wanting to call and break the happy news to her personally, sooner than later.”

Dean sighs and hangs his head, shoulders slumping a bit. “I guess she threw my name out to get everyone into work on a Sunday afternoon.”

“It worked, though,” Benny says. “Pamela knows how to get shit done.”

They spend another half an hour catching up, Benny mostly trying to distract Dean from worrying about Cas. For all that he’s known him for less than a week, Dean can’t even imagine life without Cas in it anymore. He’s relieved when Benny reminds him that at least Cas has no idea about the murder charges yet, so he doesn’t have that weighing on him while giving his account of the botched surgery. He’d been nervous enough just worrying about his career on the line. Eventually, after nearly an hour of alternately staring and not staring at the door, it finally opens.

Gabriel’s the first one out of the room, closely followed by Cas. As soon as he sees Dean, he brightens and quickly walks over to envelop him in a hug. Gabriel hangs back, holding the door open for Pamela, but she just stands in the doorway watching the scene still unfolding inside the room with grim satisfaction. With the door propped open, it’s impossible not to hear what must be Nick, shouting at someone about being set up and scapegoated, blaming everyone in the room for buying into the lies. Dean can’t help his curiosity, and when Cas pulls back from his hug, he’s grinning at him, apparently doing everything in his power to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“What the hell is even happening in there?” Dean asks, trying to get a look through the door and failing.

“Nick is displeased with the panel’s assessment,” Cas says. “He thinks Gabriel and I conspired to frame him for his mistake. The panel refuses to consider it a valid conclusion based on the facts presented. I believe he’s now actively threatening to destroy all of their careers unless they amend their ruling to exclude any culpability for Mr. Adler’s death from his record.”

“The family served him with papers this morning,” Gabriel says, sauntering over with his hands in his pockets and a huge grin on his face. “They’re suing him for malpractice and wrongful death.”

“Good for them,” Benny says. “I take it they’re done in there?”

“Whenever Nick decides to shut his mouth and take his lumps,” Gabriel says, cocking his head to the side and raising and eyebrow at Benny. “But I guess you’re here to deliver him even more lumps.”

“That I am,” Benny says, excusing himself and heading toward the door. “Pamela said I could wait out here for him to come out, but I’m thinking he’s gonna need a bit of convincing to leave.”

Benny doesn’t have to go far. As soon as he reaches the door, Pamela steps aside as Nick comes storming out with murder in his eyes. After his chilling conversation with Benny, Dean’s actually looking for it, and it’s not hard to spot. Cas even flinches at the sight of him. Benny’s prepared for him, though, and no sooner is Nick in the hallway than Benny’s spinning him around and slapping a pair of handcuffs on him.

“Nick Morningstar, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, unauthorized administration of a controlled substance, and first degree murder.” He goes on reading Nick his rights.

Dean wraps his arm around Cas’s shoulders and holds on tight. They watch Nick blanch, and then turn furious eyes on Cas and Gabriel.

“You did this to me,” Nick says. “Don’t think I don’t know that.”

“You did it to yourself, Nick,” Gabriel calls back.

Benny leads him away down the hall, kicking up a fuss but going with him anyway. As soon as they turn the corner and Nick’s complaints fade into the distance, Gabriel turns to them with a grin, rubbing his hands together.

“Boy, all that humiliating spectacle really worked up an appetite. Who wants lunch?”

Dean looks over at Cas, who’s still standing frozen in shock at his side. He gives him a little squeeze and Cas finally tears his eyes away from the empty hall and blinks up at him.

“What the hell did I miss?”

“Uh, well, my buddy Benny, he’s a homicide detective.”

“I gathered that by how he arrested Nick for murder just now,” Cas replies.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Pamela says, walking over with a woman that Dean assumes must be the infamous Billie. “But Gabriel’s right. I think this is the kind of story best told over lunch.”

“Or over tequila shots,” Gabriel says. “Either way works for me.”

It’s Billie who smiles at Cas. “Congratulations, Dr. Novak. You and Gabriel helped take down a serial killer today. We can’t thank you enough. By the way, have we discussed what you’ll be doing when you complete your residency in a few months? Because I think that’s a discussion we need to have as soon as possible, seeing as there’s been a sudden vacancy in our emergency department.”

Pamela just smiles at them all, pleased for having been able to bring them all to this point. “It’s starting to sound like what we need here is a party.”

“You volunteering your office for that, or are we all going back to my shop to get matching tattoos?”

“No way, bucko,” Gabriel says. “We’re going out on the town.”

They wind up back at the same little dive where Gabriel had taken Cas the night all of this began. Over drinks and appetizers, they each take it in turn to fill in their piece of the story, explaining to Cas exactly how they got from there to here. After a few hours, Sam and Rowena join them, and then Charlie, who returns Cas’s phone, and her wife Kara, who brings a huge box of cupcakes with her. When the party starts getting too big for the little restaurant, Gabriel announces the festivities will move to his house.

Cas frowns. “And to think I appreciated living there for the peace and quiet.”

Gabriel laughs and braces himself with a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Once in a very long while, the planets align and you stumble over a unicorn, and you just need to let loose and throw a party.”

Jody, Donna, and Claire show up once they hear the news and Dean officially tells them to shut the shop and get their asses to the party. Alex turns up after her exams are finished for the day, along with Mildred and Anael, and several other nurses and doctors Cas and Gabriel work with. Even Kevin and Hannah turn up eventually, after their shifts at the hospital. Cas spends an hour or two as the center of attention before he excuses himself. He grabs Dean’s hand and drags him off to his room.

Dean takes in the serene space while Cas bustles around tidying up the practically nonexistent mess. He fusses over his little succulent plant, lamenting his neglectful and irresponsible behavior in abandoning it the day before, apologizing to the tiny plant as he takes it into the bathroom and drips a bit of water into the pot. Dean grins at him while he walks it back to its spot on the dresser, turning it until he’s satisfied the plant is happy again.

“You know, I think you probably need some tending to, also,” Dean says. When Cas glances up at him with a confused little knit in his brow, he points at Cas’s chest. “Tattoo? You should probably clean and moisturize it. It’s been a while.”

Cas frowns, but nods, carefully pulling off Dean’s suit jacket that he’s still wearing and loosening his tie. “It is feeling a bit tight.”

Dean smiles fondly at him and steps up into his personal space to finish sliding his tie off before undoing a few of his buttons. Cas sucks in a deep breath and then leans in to kiss Dean, pushing his hands away in the process. When he leans back, he’s smiling at the pleasantly dazed look on Dean’s face.

Cas takes over unbuttoning his own shirt. “I think I should do that, or we might end up missing the rest of the party.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, but he doesn’t disagree. He backs off with hands raised, just far enough for Cas to get his shirt off, and then leans in to examine the healing tattoo.

“Yeah, you definitely need to clean that. You got any ointment here?”

“Of course I do, Dean. What kind of doctor do you think I am?”

“The sexy kind,” Dean answers as he follows Cas into the bathroom. “Whoa, your bathroom’s like some weird cave. I kinda dig it.”

Cas fishes in a drawer for a tube of acceptable moisturizer. “Do you think it will function as an acceptable classroom for our purposes?”

Dean shrugs while Cas leans over the sink and gently washes the tattoo. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t happen to own a pair of cowboy boots, would you?” he asks, which seems to throw Cas off.

He stands up and pats his chest dry with a towel, then moves aside when Dean nudges him out of the way. Dean washes his hands, taking the towel from Cas and hanging it up before moving to apply the cream to Cas’s tattoo himself.

“What will I do if you’re not here to care for me?”

“You changing the subject?” Dean replies. “I know you can do this for yourself, Cas, but if I’m here, I’m gonna do it for you, because I can.”

Cas accepts this, but he has other questions. “What do cowboy boots have to do with this being a suitable venue for our ongoing lessons?”

Dean snorts, tossing the ointment back into the drawer Cas had found it in. “Dr. Sexy? Everyone knows what makes him sexy is that he wears cowboy boots.”

A look of recognition passes across Cas’s face, and then he frowns. “Do you have any idea how unrealistic and infuriating that show is? There is a _ ghost_, Dean. In the hospital, talking to people. They had a three episode arc about some woman getting a face transplant last season. And I can’t even imagine standing up for a six hour surgery in cowboy boots.”

Dean stares at him in mock horror, but realizes Cas might be complaining, but at least he’s complaining _ accurately_. As much as he might find it exasperating, Dean’s pretty sure he at least watches the show, and can’t help the ridiculously pleased look that comes over his face. “So, is that a no on the cowboy boots?” he asks, shuffling closer to Cas and pulling him in by the hips.

Cas glares at his puppy dog face for just a few seconds before relenting. “I suppose I can get some if you think it would be instructive. But I’m not wearing them to work.”

“Aw, you love me,” Dean says, and then realizes he said it out loud. Before he can sputter out a retraction or tell Cas he was just joking, Cas goes all soft on him.

“I really think I might.”

“What, really? I… I mean… yeah,” Dean manages to get out as Cas’s arms wind around his waist. “Yeah, I think I might, too. Love you, that is.”

“Is that strange?” Cas asks, looking into his eyes and sliding his hand up to Dean’s shoulder where the perfect imprint of his hand has been tattooed for nearly a decade, waiting for him. “I’ve known you less than a week, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Dean replies.

It’s a long time before they find their way back to the party.


	12. Chapter 12

Six Months Later

Dean’s alarm goes off several hours later than usual, but he still groans at the intrusive sound as he frees his arm and slaps his phone off the nightstand trying to shut it off. They’d definitely been up way too late the night before celebrating Sam’s graduation from law school and the end of Cas’s residency. Now that he’s all grown up and ready to branch out on his own, Sam is moving out. All the way to the apartment above Pamela’s law practice next door. Now that he’ll be working there full time, Pamela thought it would be an efficient arrangement. She even made it clear that Rowena was absolutely invited to move in with Sam. Dean will hold the beautiful image of Sam’s landed-fish sputtering and Rowena’s exasperated yet fond eye roll in his mind for a long time to come. It hadn’t stopped the two of them from making plans together anyway. Maybe just sped things along a little bit. But Dean gets it.

In even better news, that means Cas is finally officially moving in. Billie gave him a whole two weeks off between the end of his residency and his first day as Dr. Novak, fully fledged member of staff. He’d argued that he should only need a day to move his things from Gabriel’s house, since he’d moved into Gabriel’s in less than one shift at the hospital, but Dean had just smiled at him and let him think he’d won the argument. He had, however, encouraged Cas to slowly start bringing stuff over. He spends most of his free time at Dean’s anyway, and a good portion of his belongings already made their way into Dean’s room.

After bringing the first few boxes of his books up the stairs and into the apartment a few days ago, Cas slumped down on the sofa and sat there staring at the stack of boxes until Dean closed the shop and came trudging up the stairs an hour later.

“You were right, Dean,” Cas says, one arm flung over his face.

“Of course I was,” Dean replies, heading into the kitchen and getting each of them a beer. “What was I right about this time?”

“Moving is terrible,” Cas laments.

“Heh,” Dean says, handing Cas a beer and then lifting his legs so he can sit on the sofa, too. He gets comfortable and drops Cas’s feet into his lap and works on getting his shoes off. “Yeah, it’s not as much fun as letting Gabriel Mission:Impossible you out of a place when you have to carry everything yourself. You can wait until Sunday to move all the heavy shit, and I’ll be around to help you with it, you know.”

“I know, Dean, but the only thing left is the heavy shit.” He groans as Dean gets his shoes off and starts rubbing his feet. “That feels wonderful. Please don’t stop.”

Dean laughs, digging his fingertips in and drawing more pleased noises out of Cas. “So, you think you’re gonna spend any more nights over there?”

It’s Cas’s turn to laugh, but he finally sits up, sliding over next to Dean and taking a long sip of beer. “I can’t even remember the last time I spent the night there. All my clothes are here now. Even Hennifer is here.”

When Cas had discovered the little succulent plant Gabriel had given him was called a Hen and Chicks, Dean began referring to it as Hennifer, and the name had, for better or worse, stuck. But for the past few months, Hennifer has lived in Dean’s kitchen window in a place of honor above the sink. But they had both gone back for one last lesson in the spacious and relaxing bathroom. Dean had appreciated the water pressure, and since Cas was once again between tattoos, they were able to take full advantage of the hot water.

But now moving day has officially arrived, for both Sam and Cas. Sam’s moved most of his things next door already, and it’s not like Dean’s kicking him out, so even if he doesn’t get everything cleared out right away it’s not a big deal. Rowena, however, only has until the end of the month to vacate her apartment on the other side of campus. Sam’s rented a truck, after Dean used it as an excuse to mock Sam for buying such a small and impractical car, and the two of them insisted on handling things themselves. Dean still expects a phone call asking for help eventually. But between his Impala and Cas’s Mustang, they figure they’ve only got one or two trips left to make to shuttle the rest of Cas’s belongings back to the little apartment above the shop.

Dean’s not in any hurry to get started. Usually they both have to drag themselves out of bed most mornings, and the prospect of two whole weeks of lazy mornings in bed with Cas snuggled up to his side is more than enough to make Dean want to forget about the rest of the world. He sighs and rolls back into Cas, laying soft kisses on his forehead until Cas opens his eyes with a sigh.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says, grinning at him like he’s personally responsible for making the sun rise.

“We have a lot to do today,” Cas says, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

“We sure do,” Dean replies. “How long do you think it’ll take to get everything up here?”

Cas shrugs lazily, “Maybe an hour, if I don’t stop to unpack anything.”

Dean nods. “If you’re feeling up for it later, what say we get started on those wings?”

Cas blinks and pulls back far enough to look into Dean’s eyes. He’s gotten a few other tattoos over the last few months. Just little things-- his name in Enochian script along his forearm, and another protective ward that Pamela helped him design along his ribs, but he and Dean hadn’t really talked about the wings again since then. It’s the sort of endeavor that would take days to complete, and Cas hasn’t had enough time to even think about it. But now, it seems like the perfect use of his extended vacation.

“Have you been saving that up to spring on me today?” Cas asks.

Dean smiles and kisses the tip of his nose. “I just figured that now you’re ready to fly.”

“You know, I think I’ve grown to like it here on earth with you.”

“Well, we can plant a whole garden on you, too, if you want.”

Cas nods seriously. “I like this idea. You have Heaven and Hell in your hands, and I’ll bring the earth and the cosmos, and then between us, we can carry all of creation.”

“That sounds like an awful lot to carry, Cas. I’m not even looking forward to carrying the rest of your books. Kinda wish you already had the wings so you could just fly everything in through the window.”

Cas gives his shoulder a gentle smack. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dean.” He sighs, though. “Isn’t the shop scheduled to be open this afternoon? What if you have a customer?”

“Claire’s gonna be there, too. She met someone in the psychology class she took last semester, and she’s coming in to get a sigil tattoo Claire designed for her. Supposed to give you pleasant dreams.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at that. “Sounds serious.”

“The tattoo, or Claire and Kaia?”

“That’s her name? Kaia?” Cas asks, and Dean nods. “What’s Pamela have to say about this?”

Dean grins at him and pulls him in for a kiss. “She’s got half our friends running around making sure things go smoothly for them. I think they’re gonna be fine.”

Cas smiles at him. “Good. Then can we get back to our important business of the morning? We’ve got a whole list of things to do, and you know how I am about lists.”

Dean knows full well. They still haven’t reached the end of Cas’s list, and he’s kinda hoping they never do. Who’s he to interfere with anything that pressing, though, so he leans in and checks another item off their list.

It's a good morning to stay in bed, just a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are, at the end! Thank y'all for coming for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it! Don't forget to go tell [weldersmightyb](https://weldersmightyb.tumblr.com) how awesome the art is! If you'd like a link to our rebloggable promo post, you can find it right here.
> 
> As usual, you can find me on the tumbls. I'm [mittensmorgul](https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com).


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